


the meteors these days are the size of corpses

by LizBee



Series: two worlds and in between [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Fake Relationship, Kelpiens are on the menu, Mirror Universe, Prime Lorca/Mirror Cornwell, also features appearances by Emperor Georgiou and assorted others including OCs, bed sharing, in which Gabriel Lorca is casually Jewish and bisexual and also having a very bad year, is it love? or is it Stockholm Syndrome?, see notes for proper warnings, slow burn with assassinations, vaguely consistent with the tie-in novel Drastic Measures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: Trapped in the mirror universe, Gabriel Lorca makes a deal with the devil: if he works for Inquisitor Cornwell, she will find him a way home. The question is, what will he become in the meantime?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooooo I don't usually post works in progress, but I've got 11 chapters out of the way already, and I don't think I'm likely to stop or get stuck any time soon. If I turn out to be wrong ... well, into the agoniser booths, I guess. I'm aiming to update every couple of weeks, ish, depending how I'm going and what real life looks like. 
> 
>   **Some warnings**
> 
> I used "chooses not to warn" above, because I feel like it's always more complicated than straight up rape/non-con where the mirrorverse is involved. Suffice to say, there are allusions to outright assault, and questions arise as to whether consent can be meaningful in some circumstances. 
> 
> Also a lot of people die, on page and off, and there's torture and slavery and problematic elements all over the place. Your fave is problematic: the mirror universe. But you probably knew that, right?
> 
>  **Other notes**
> 
> I meant it when I said slow burn, sorry. I think the shipping starts in earnest around maybe chapter 6? (I swear, I started this thinking it'd be an easy 5,000 words. 10,000 at most.) 
> 
> Vaguely compliant with _Drastic Measures_ , but there's no need to have read it. The Terran medical division uniforms being red instead of white is from an interview with Gersha Phillips, which honestly just put a mental image in my head that left me _needing_ to write this; interrogators being part of medical is my own conceit, but whatever, it makes sense. Sort of. Just work with me here.
> 
> Title is from "There's a War Going on for your Mind" by the Flobots, because _for some reason_ this fandom lends itself to long, pretentious titles. Beta'd by NonElvis, who it turns out was writing more or less the same plot but with different characters. We're friends because we're into the same things, right?

He didn't know where he was, or why he was being held. Or how long he had been a prisoner. 

For the longest time, he couldn't remember how he came to be here, either. The memories returned out of order, and he slowly assembled them into a narrative that felt right. It wasn't as if he had much else to do. 

One. Beaming back to the _Buran_ from Priors World. Cutting it fine with an ion storm developing in the system, but Ava Maddox was the best transporter chief in the fleet, and while it was a bumpy ride, he'd landed sure enough in the _Buran_ 's transporter room. 

That was the second memory: coming face to face with Ava, and finding her _different_. Hard. Out of uniform. And armed. 

The ship rocked, and he wasn't sure if he'd managed to say, "Is that torpedo fire?" before she raised her weapon and shot him. 

Three. Regaining consciousness. Head pounding. Stomach churning. He was somewhere else, maybe a shuttle, but the memory was little more than a brief impression of noise and sensation. 

Four. Less a single memory, more like a series of moments. A long conversation with Kat Cornwell. No, more one-sided than that. He rambled, she listened. His recollection had a fuzzy haze, as if he'd been drunk, but she was sober, and frowning. Displeased with his answers. 

And then he woke up here, this cell where the lights were always dimmed and the guards were little more than shapes in the shadows. Several times he was hooded and interrogated, and any resistance was met with a dispassionate beating. The rest of the time, he was ignored. Judging by the screams which often echoed through the facility, he was unusually lucky in that respect. 

It was easy to lose track of time. He tried carving a tally into the wall of his cell, but that earned him another beating when it was discovered, and after that, they took to moving him around at random. Usually to identical cells; once, to a room which looked and smelled more like a hospital ward. 

The weird thing was that, as far as he could tell, all the guards were human. Impossible to be sure, without seeing them, but the inflections, the body language, even the smell. It was all familiar. 

It couldn't be a Starfleet facility. That memory of Kat, cold and disapproving, that was just something his mind had come up with to fill a gap. One day, he promised himself, he'd buy her a drink and tell her about it.

Not Starfleet. But human? If he had to guess, he'd say he was on a planet, not a starship or space station. The galaxy was dotted with breakaway colonies populated by humans who rejected Federation oversight of their affairs. Isolationist, often bigoted, pains in the ass for sure, but not usually hostile. At least, not to individual, human Starfleet officers. 

Priors World was one such, and yeah, he'd been captured right after he spent a few days reminding the planetary government that they couldn't block non-human immigration _and_ enjoy the privilege of Starfleet's protection from raiders. But those guys were just assholes; they needed to make a show of standing up to the Federation in order to appeal to their electors, but they ultimately depended on the status quo. 

Extremists could exist anywhere, of course, but there weren't many on Priors World, and none of the reports he'd seen suggested they had the resources to capture and hold a Starfleet captain for a day, let alone … however much time had passed. 

Enough time that he had a full beard and his hair was falling into his eyes. At that point, his captors trimmed both, roughly, and used a keratin inhibitor to stop it from growing back. Between that and the weight he'd lost, thanks to the not-quite-adequate food, he must have been damn near unrecognisable. 

Maybe that was the point. 

His crew wouldn't have let him rot here. Commander Shev would have led a rescue herself, if only for the pleasure of being the first to give him shit about being captured. 

If they were alive, they would have come. 

They hadn't come. 

Therefore...

Another day, another tasteless ration bar. Push-ups until he was shaking, which barely took any time at all. Then he heaved himself back onto his thin cot to pass a few hours staring at the ceiling and planning improbable escapes, when the force field was deactivated and the guards entered his cell. 

Four of them. All armed. They cuffed his wrists and ankles before he even had a chance to think about grabbing a weapon, but this time they didn't bother putting a hood over his head. 

That was ... either very bad, or really good. 

The facility's corridors had no distinguishing features save for the screams of his fellow prisoners and the smell of antiseptic. They marched him into an elevator, which ascended and opened onto a wider corridor, still blank, but less utilitarian. 

Through an automatic double door, and into a large office. The enormous window was shuttered, and the overhead light was no brighter than that of his cell, but lamps in each corner added a soft glow to an otherwise unremarkable office. The room held a wide desk, at which sat a human male in his early forties, his attention focused on whoever sat in the chair opposite. 

The man dismissed the guards with a nod and said, "Inquisitor. Captain Lorca, as requested."

A familiar voice said, "As ordered." 

The chair rotated, and there was Kat Cornwell, rising to her feet, studying Gabriel with a frown on her face. 

"Admiral," he breathed, though she wasn't in uniform. Or, rather, she was wearing some kind of variant: dark red, with a gold breastplate and matching gauntlets and shoulder guards, with a phaser at her thigh and a knife at one hip, a hypospray at the other. It looked like a costume, but she seemed deadly serious. " _Kat_ \--"

"Quiet," she snapped, and to the man behind the desk, she said, "Dr Adams, I gave very clear orders. I wanted Lorca unharmed."

Okay. Some kind of undercover operation. Human supremacists, maybe some kind of tinpot dictatorship. That would explain the gaudy parody of a Starfleet uniform. Unusual to send a flag officer to rescue a captain; he'd owe Kat more than a drink when they got out. In the meantime, he kept his mouth shut. 

The man -- Dr Adams -- raised his eyebrows.

"Are you unhappy with his condition, Inquisitor?"

Kat circled Gabriel. Assessing him. Her eyes were flat and hard. 

"Malnourished," she said, "out of condition -- God only knows what kind of psychological damage you've inflicted."

Adams was beginning to sweat.

"Inquisitor," he said, "this facility--"

"Answers to me." 

Kat nodded at someone behind Gabriel, and two hands closed over his shoulders. Large, grey, clawed. _Klingon…?_ he wondered, but Kat was moving, and a primitive instinct was telling him that _she_ was the predator he needed to watch. 

She pinned Adams behind his desk, throwing him back into his chair. A hypospray appeared in her hand, and Adams cried, "No!" as she injected him. 

His face went blank, his pupils pinpricks.

"Kat," Gabriel said. "What's--"

"Shut up," she said, "or I'll sedate you, too." 

He obeyed. 

Kat -- Cornwell -- _the inquisitor_ \-- flicked a switch on the comm unit. 

"Have Dr Van Gelder sent to me," she said. 

A middle-aged man -- human, of course -- arrived just moments later. 

"Inquisitor," he said, offering a pseudo-Roman salute.

_Who_ are _these people_ , he wondered.

"I've demoted Dr Adams," said the inquisitor. "Congratulations, Dr Van Gelder, the Tantalus Prison Hospital is yours." 

Dr Van Gelder bowed. 

"And Dr Adams?" he asked.

Drool was running down Adams' chin. He didn't seem to notice or care.

"Can assist you with your research." 

"Thank you, Inquisitor. He'll make an interesting subject." 

He summoned two guards -- or orderlies -- who hauled the catatonic Adams away. No one looked at Gabriel. Or the Klingon.

When they were gone, the door closed behind them, Gabriel said, "Katrina. Admiral. How long--"

"L'Rell, transfer him to secure quarters on the _Acheron_. Get him fed and cleaned up. I'll join you as soon as I've dealt with the handover of power here." 

"Inquisitor." The Klingon had a low voice, and her grip on his shoulders tightened. "You. Come." 

There was no _USS Acheron_ that he could recall, but the ship felt Starfleet. And old, despite the modern fixtures. The Klingon -- L'Rell -- had him beamed directly to guest quarters. As soon as the transporter released them, she let go of him and stepped back. 

"Do you wish to eat or bathe first?" she asked. 

He'd had a ration bar only a couple of hours ago, but it was months since he'd showered, and he was suddenly aware of his own grime. The bathroom was considerably larger than those on the _Buran_ , complete with a tub. He settled for a shower, hot enough to make him dizzy. 

L'Rell apparently intended to wash him herself, and seemed surprised when he declined, though she withdrew without argument. 

He let her cut his hair, though, which she did with a practised assurance. That done, and his beard trimmed -- he did that himself -- Gabriel looked in the mirror and examined his reflection. Thinner than he remembered, with grey hair at his temples and in his beard, deep lines around his eyes and mouth. But alive. Whole. More or less.

L'Rell gave him clean clothes, black T-shirt and pants and soft shoes, no rank or insignia, and led him out to the living area.

"Eat," she said, and put a bowl in front of him.

It was plain food: rice, vegetables, some sort of mild fish, but the flavours and textures almost overwhelmed him. He tried to eat slowly, but found himself hunched over the bowl, pausing only to drink the water L'Rell provided. 

The bowl was half empty, and he was beginning to feel capable of proper thought again, when Kat returned.

Or not-Kat. Difficult to reconcile the familiar face with the unfamiliar expression -- contempt? Malice? If this was some kind of deep cover mission, she was a better actress than he'd ever realised. 

She joined him at the table. Cautious, he straightened up, pushed the bowl away. Not-Kat shook her head.

"You need to eat," she said.

He reclaimed his food, but kept half an eye on her as he ate and she spoke. 

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, hands interlaced before her, she said, "Are you familiar with the theory of parallel universes?"

He swallowed and said, "Vaguely. It's science fiction. There's no proof." 

She smiled. It didn't meet her eyes. "Wrong. We have proof that at least two exist. Yours, and mine. Mirror images, if you like." 

He studied her. Unfamiliar insignia, worn on the wrong side. Unfamiliar medals. That red uniform. Gauntlets, for Christ's sake. 

A small, fine scar ran from her upper lip to her nose. Almost invisible, unless you were close. But he'd been close to Kat many times, and this mark was new to him. But not fresh.

"Go on," he said. 

"You tried to beam to your ship in the middle of an ion storm, and crossed over to our side instead. I assume your counterpart landed on your ship. No great loss, except that, unfortunately for you, our Lorca was a traitor. And now he's the most wanted man in the Terran Empire."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. 

"'Terran Empire'," he said.

"You're a long way from home, Captain Lorca." 

"Okay. Fine." He scraped his bowl clean and pushed it away. "So what did he do? Your Lorca?"

"He led a coup against the emperor."

"Huh." 

"The emperor destroyed the _Buran_ with all hands. Except you." Cornwell tilted her head. "Two of Captain Lorca's followers got cold feet. They betrayed him at the last minute. Had him brought to me. Except, of course, they didn't." 

"You interrogated me," he said. "I remember."

"Do you? Interesting." She reached for a PADD and made a note. 

"What happened to my crew?"

"Dead or imprisoned."

He swallowed.

"The two who brought you to me were rewarded with execution by transporter." At his blank look, she added, "They were beamed into space."

"You call that a reward?"

"A quick death, and no torture. They _were_ traitors, even if they changed their minds at the last minute."

Poor Ava. Or -- he remembered the fierce look in her eyes as she shot him, hatred and fury and pain -- a stranger with his officer's face. Dead nonetheless. 

"Why'd they bring me to you?" he asked. "Why not the ... emperor?" he asked. It was the damnedest story, but it held together. And maybe he was just grateful to hear someone else's voice, after all the time alone. "Who are you in this 'Empire'?"

"Chief Imperial Inquisitor. Master of spies. Lorca was the emperor's right hand. I'm her left." 

"Mm." He leaned back, assessing her. "Katrina Cornwell. Kat."

"Kate." 

"Kate, then. Psychiatrist?" 

"Of course."

"Admiral?"

She laughed, revealing a slight overbite, so familiar it hurt. "I wouldn't lower myself," she said. 

"Right." He drummed his fingertips on the table. "I take it you weren't part of the coup?"

"My first loyalty is to the Empire. I might have supported Lorca, if I thought his regime would be an improvement."

"I'll try not to take that personally." 

"You shouldn't. If you were our Lorca, I'd have interrogated him until he was a drooling vegetable, then turned him over to the emperor for a slow death." She held out a hand to L'Rell, who placed an empty glass in it. "You got lucky." 

He let her refill his glass and watched as she poured her own. His stomach ached, and he wasn't sure if it was the food, or the lingering sense that he was locked in a room with a predator.

Two predators. He nodded at L'Rell and said, "And your buddy here?"

"My personal bodyguard." 

The Klingon shifted. "Your slave, Inquisitor." 

He flinched. The water spilled. 

Voice measured, the inquisitor said, "We do not subscribe to the Federation principles of equality, democracy, mediocrity. We are Terrans. We take what's ours without apology." 

Gabriel swallowed. She looked like Kat, sounded like her, smiled like her, but she was a dangerous stranger. And for all that he was clean and fed now, she was also the captor who had held him in that facility for--

"How long have I been here?" he asked. 

"Almost eight months. It's the 14th of January, 2256." 

"Jesus Christ." And he wasn't free yet. Just a different kind of prisoner. "Why? Why keep me alive?"

"Gabriel," she said, "you're a valuable resource in any universe. Why would I waste that?" 

He had no answer. His mouth was dry, but his stomach was churning, and he didn't want to drink. 

"The emperor wouldn't care who you are, or where you're from. Your head on a pike -- metaphorically speaking, we're not _barbarians_ \-- is just the sort of propaganda victory she needs. I have other priorities." 

"Such as?"

"Your counterpart still has loyalists. An agent with your face is an opportunity I can't pass up." 

Now he really did feel sick. 

"You want me to work for your regime." 

"Is your schedule full right now?" She leaned forward. "The question you should ask is, what's in it for you?"

"Okay. What's in it for me?"

"I have considerable resources at my disposal. Work for me, and I'll find you a way home." 

He stared at his hands. He could guess where this was going. Starfleet protocol in this situation would be to do whatever it took to survive and get home, and bring all the intelligence he could gather on this universe with him. 

And yet. These people practised torture. Slavery. God knew what else. 

"And if I don't?" he asked.

The inquisitor opened her hands, as if releasing him. "Interrogation and a slow death on the imperial flagship." 

He exhaled slowly, considering. 

"Then I guess I'm yours," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

He was given access to one section of the _Acheron_ \-- his quarters, and a weapons range and gymnasium on the same deck -- and to certain files and archives, most heavily redacted and marked _Emperor's Eyes Only_. Gabriel's amusement at the absurdity of the neo-fascist trappings faded as he read the reports. 

One, a long document dated twenty years earlier, was a summary of all known intelligence on his own universe. They had a Federation starship -- and not just any starship, but the _Defiant_ , a Constitution-class ship -- and all her logs and records. And she had been on their side for a century. 

His first, selfish thought was, _I'm never going to get home._

A whole section of the report analysed the Empire's prospects if they invaded the Federation, and concluded -- reasonably, in Gabriel's opinion -- that they could conquer the Federation in less than five years. The only thing holding them back, as far as he could tell, was that no one had any idea how to send their own fleet across. 

But maybe he was overestimating the Empire. The author of a subsection titled _The Psychological Threat _was dubious about the Empire's ability to maintain long-term control over the Federation; military superiority was all very well, but the Federation adhered to dangerous philosophies of personal freedom, individual rights and cultural diversity, and many citizens would die for those ideals.__

And, worse, Federation ideology might infect the emperor's subjects, encouraging rebellion among the aliens and even revolution among the lower orders of Terrans. The paper estimated that the Empire could hold the Federation for a generation at most before internal disputes forced them to redirect their resources. 

In conclusion, rather than pursuing conquest of the Federation, the emperor would do better to erase even the limited information available to senior officers and high-ranking advisors, and ensure that only the emperor, their heir and the Imperial Master of Spies knew of the other universe.

The author, or authors, of that analysis were anonymous, but Gabriel thought he recognised the style.

_I see you, Katrina._

It wasn't just sadism, or indifference, which had left him rotting in that prison for seven and a half months. She feared him, and the dissent he could spread. She needed him, but damaged, if not outright broken. Pliable. 

So he was kept here, quarantined from the rest of the _Acheron_ 's crew.

Except for L'Rell. Was the inquisitor so confident that her slave wouldn't yearn for freedom?

Other than the inquisitor, the Klingon woman was his only companion. She sparred with him, watched him at weapons practice, answered his questions, and otherwise … he didn't know what she did when he was alone. He suspected he didn't want to. 

His curiosity always did get the better of his common sense.

"Harder," L'Rell growled, blocking his lunge. "You fight as if you've never held a knife before." 

To prove her point, she kicked him hard in the side of his knee and, as he was knocked off balance, snatched the knife out of his grasp. She put her foot on his chest, scowling down at him, a knife in each hand. 

Gabriel yielded.

"Knife fights aren't a big thing where I'm from," he said when he'd caught his breath. "I need a break."

"A short break." 

He pulled himself to his feet and hauled his bruised body over to the sidelines, where his towel and water waited. 

"Not that this isn't a nice change from prison," he said, sitting on the floor, "but don't you have better things to do?"

"The inquisitor requires you in peak physical condition. She holds all her agents to the highest standards."

"How does she gauge that?"

There was a gleam in L'Rell's eyes. "They have to fight _me_." She smiled. "Don't be scared. The inquisitor prefers I don't kill her candidates."

Daunting. And interesting.

"Of course she doesn't," he said. "It wouldn't do for a Klingon slave to kill a Terran, right?"

It occurred to him that baiting a Klingon armed with two knives, who could break him like a twig if she chose, wasn't the smartest tactic. But it was too late now, so he added, "You fight like a warrior. But you're just a tool to these people. Why do you put up with that?"

L'Rell didn't break him like a twig. Instead, she held out his knife. 

"You have all the arrogance of a Terran," she said, "and none of the skill. Your break is over. Get back to work."

*

When he wasn't training, he was reading. Alone, he'd set the lights in his quarters to one hundred and twenty percent -- Terrans, he figured out, couldn't stand bright lights, which struck him as a useful strategic advantage, provided his own sight didn't atrophy -- and settle down with coffee, synthesised fruit, and a PADD.

Other than the report about the _Defiant_ and his own universe -- a useful way to introduce him to the points of difference in their cultures, he noted -- the other documents were straightforward, matters of public record, if the Empire had such a thing. History, in the form of dates of conquests. The Imperial Starfleet's service manual. An official biography of the emperor Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius.

He had met the Federation's Philippa Georgiou once, and admired her as an officer who embodied the ideals of Starfleet. Here, she was a despot. Overlord, conqueror, responsible for the destruction of planets and decimation of whole species.

Not that his counterpart was any better.

The rest of the documents were about Captain Gabriel Lorca of the _ISS Buran_. Awarded the Imperial Medal of Honour, decorated for valour. Commendations for his skill in poisons, for kills in the hundreds, for surviving assassination attempts. His achievements were a list of atrocities: _The conquest of Bajor. The dismantling of the Cardassian Union._

Gabriel hadn't even heard of these places or people, but the Terran Empire was considerably larger than the Federation. Unsustainably so, he suspected, and when he turned his attention to his counterpart's logs, he found them full of growing, carefully stated frustration that Emperor Georgiou preferred to manage the empire she had, rather than expand its borders. 

Otherwise, the other Gabriel's logs were unrevealing. It wasn't surprising, given that Kat -- the inquisitor, he reminded himself -- had access to them. There were political officers, too, he learned, at least one assigned to every starship. Lorca had befriended his, maybe seduced her, reading between the lines. The main benefit of the logs, that he could see, was giving him a chance to hear his counterpart's voice, and to see that, whatever else he was, the Empire's Lorca was as loyal to his crew as Gabriel was to his.

_Is he on the_ Buran _? What is he doing to my crew?_ What would a human supremacist do with an Andorian first officer, or a Tellarite engineer?

He wouldn't be able to sustain the illusion for long. Shev had served with Gabriel for four years. They had private jokes. She was teaching him to play an Andorian strategy game. She knew her captain.

And beyond the _Buran_ , he had a big family, and friends who had known him since he was young. People he had slept with.

How long could his counterpart live a lie? 

And what would he do if he was discovered?

Worrying about it achieved nothing. Gabriel forced himself to turn his attention to the next files in the dossier. The speeches.

His counterpart couldn't exactly launch a political campaign in this totalitarian monarchy, but there had come a point where he stopped hiding his opposition to the emperor. The inquisitor and her agents had recordings of what essentially amounted to stump speeches. _Support me, and I'll promote you, or your partner, or your child. When the time comes, throw your resources behind me, and I'll make sure you're rewarded._

Sometimes it was just a note of dissent: _You're an intelligent woman, you must see the current policies will just lead to stagnation._ But more and more as time went on, the other Lorca's rhetoric became more grandiose. _Terrans are destined to control the galaxy. The Terran race are fortune's favourites, and it's our duty to conquer._

And then he started referring to _we_ and _us_ instead of _I_ and _me_. The majestic plural, Gabriel assumed, until he started seeing the same face in the crowds, and then, occasionally, by his counterpart's side. A woman, very beautiful, and much too young. Dark skin and cruel, intelligent eyes.

His counterpart raised her hand to his lips, and she smiled. 

He couldn't remember the her name, but in his universe, she was the first officer on the _USS Shenzhou_. A rising star, educated by Vulcans, probably only a few years off getting a command of her own. 

"Michael Burnham," said the inquisitor, when he asked. "Captain of the _Shenzhou_. And the emperor's adopted child and heir."

She had summoned him to her office, an enormous room dominated by screens and holographic displays. A large desk sat in front of one window; a small table in front of another.

"She supported my counterpart?" he asked. "Against her own mother?"

The inquisitor was silent. Considering her options, he guessed. Deciding how much of the truth he needed. 

He said, "If I'm to impersonate him well enough to fool her--"

You won't." The inquisitor's expression when she came to a decision was exactly like his Kat's. "Burnham's dead." 

"Interrogation and slow execution?"

"No," said Cornwell, "unfortunately. Officially, Burnham died a hero, defending the Empire and her mother's rule from you."

He was beginning to get an idea of how information and propaganda worked here.

"The truth?" he asked.

"Lorca became Michael's mentor when she was in her late teens. He had ample opportunity to infect her with his political beliefs, but I suspect the influence went both ways. They were both ambitious. And they both found themselves in disagreement with the emperor." Inquisitor Cornwell gave him a small, cynical smile. "Gabriel may have imagined himself using Michael to legitimise his reign, but I suspect Michael just wanted a consort who could fight her wars while she ruled the Empire herself."

"He was her teacher? _And_ her lover?"

"Does that shock you?"

"She's only, what, thirty?"

"Twenty-nine when she died." Cornwell's look was pitying, amused. "Let go of any Federation principles you have about sex, Captain."

He was growing accustomed to the idea that his counterpart was a xenophobic mass murderer; why did this feel different? 

His thoughts must have been obvious, because she sighed and grudgingly said, "According to my intelligence, she was twenty-five when they became lovers. Does that make it better?"

"Somewhat."

"Learn to control your expression. Your face is too open." 

"Thanks."

"One of Lorca's followers got cold feet and brought the whole thing to the emperor. Burnham was in a shuttle, returning to the _Shenzhou_ , when it was destroyed. A faction of your supporters took credit for her death, which gave Emperor Georgiou a pretext to destroy the _Buran_. And Michael's involvement was," she opened her hand, "made to disappear."

"Who really killed her?" he asked. 

The inquisitor smiled. 

"She was a spoiled child," she said. "Clever, but untested. The emperor was an adult before she was named heir, and she won her command in single combat instead of receiving it as a gift. She deserved a better heir. One who wasn't a weakness." 

"So I'm guessing the emperor doesn't know you killed her little girl." 

"I told you, Gabriel. My first loyalty is to the Empire." She let that sink in, then said, "I have a job for you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Already?"

"The universe didn't come to a stop just because you need time to adjust. I don't need you to fight, just talk. L'Rell can take care of everything else." The inquisitor handed him a PADD. "Here's the file. You leave at 0500."


	3. Chapter 3

The 'everything else' L'Rell would take care of apparently included helping him get dressed. Gabriel was inclined to refuse her assistance, until he saw his counterpart's uniform. 

"How do people put this on?" he asked as L'Rell adjusted his breastplate. It was more flexible than it looked, but it was heavier than a tactical vest. He might have been able to adjust it himself, but it would have taken a while. 

"They have slaves," said L'Rell, making the final adjustment. He went still, and she laughed. "You're too easily shocked, Lorca. You won't pass for one of them until you learn better." 

"So the inquisitor has told me." 

Insignia and medals in place, he considered his reflection. He felt slightly ridiculous, like a theatrical pirate, but the phaser he carried was no prop. 

_Shoot L'Rell as soon as the shuttle's clear of the_ Acheron _. Set course at maximum warp for--_

Where? It didn't matter. If the inquisitor didn't find him, no doubt the emperor would. _Interrogation and death by torture._

Better to stay with Cornwell. Play her game. Pray she was being sincere when she promised to find him a way home. 

"Do you trust the inquisitor?" he asked L'Rell as they were cleared for take-off. 

She didn't answer at first, concentrating on the controls, and he wondered if that was the same as a _no_.

But as they cleared the shuttlebay, she said, "She has never deceived _me_."

"But her agents? You seem to have served with her for a long time."

"I serve the inquisitor. Not _with_ her."

"Right."

"It pleases her to forget that I'm a slave. She considers it a compliment to me." L'Rell turned back to look at him. "It's a kindness. But I don't forget what I am."

"If you could be free--"

"I can't." Her voice was flat and hard, and the conversation was clearly at an end. 

Gabriel was settling in for six hours of awkward silence, when L'Rell said, "Look at the _Acheron_." 

She had brought the shuttle about to give him a clear view of the ship, and his breath caught in his throat at the familiar profile of a Constitution class vessel.

"This was the _Defiant_?" he asked. It might have been one a Terran ship, but it looked too old, and more heavily armoured than the standard Constitution class design. "I figured it'd be a museum piece."

"It was the imperial flagship for many years," said L'Rell. "When the _Charon_ was launched, it was put under the command of the Master of Spies."

And now it was his … home?

"The inquisitor has access to more information about your universe than anyone else in the Empire," said L'Rell. "If there's a way to get you home, she'll find it." She turned to look back at him. "You should trust her." 

He didn't know what to say to that. 

"We have a long journey ahead of us," said L'Rell as they went to warp. "You should use the time to prepare." 

*

In his universe, Madeline Chan was an old family friend. Gabriel had spent summers with her kids when he was young; he'd shared his first kiss with her son. Last he heard, she had retired from her career in Earth's regional administration to live on Proxima, close to her daughter.

The Madeline Chan of the Terran Empire was the Viceroy of Proxima, and a one-time supporter of his counterpart's coup. She had switched sides early enough that she was permitted to keep her post, but questions lingered about her loyalty to the emperor. The inquisitor was curious, she said, about what Viceroy Chan might do if Gabriel turned up on her doorstep. 

L'Rell landed the shuttle outside the city and transported them to a public square in the residential district. It was raining, and the few pedestrians were all aliens. A few cast quick, nervous glances at L'Rell, walking behind Lorca like a bodyguard, before averting their gaze. None dared to make eye contact with Gabriel. 

_Walk like you own the place. Don't try to hide from security cameras. Don't act like a fugitive._

The inquisitor's advice was all well and good, but she'd become evasive when he asked what would happen to him if he was recognised and arrested.

But there were no shouts of, "Hey, it's the traitor Lorca, somebody stop him!" The few humans they passed met his gaze and nodded respectfully, saluting if they were in uniform, but no one recognised him. 

It was the uniform, he decided. The gold breastplate was for senior Starfleet officers, by definition the most dangerous and powerful people in the Empire. Passers-by were too intimidated by his rank to look closely at his face. 

He breathed a bit more easily after that realisation, and permitted himself to look around. 

At first glance, this could have been any street on any Federation colony: wide and clean, designed for foot traffic, lined with native trees and buildings in the style popular with colonial architects a century ago. 

And then he looked again, and realised that the signage was in human languages only, and the non-humans around him were, if not slaves, certainly not regarded as full citizens of the Empire. And some were thin and unkempt, their clothes shabby. 

_Poverty_. It was jarring to see it in a place that felt so much like home. 

The viceregal palace sat at the top of a hill, heavily fortified against intruders, but the inquisitor's intelligence said they would find the viceroy that afternoon at her daughter's home, a modest apartment in a secured block. The guard at the entrance was a civilian; she, too, waved Gabriel through without looking too hard at his face. She looked like she wanted to stop L'Rell, but Gabriel gave her a hard look, and she thought better of it. 

"No need to let the viceroy know we're coming," he said as he walked away. 

They were met at the front door by a Vulcan woman. _She_ recognised Gabriel, or so he guessed by the minute quirk of her eyebrow as they made eye contact. 

He was escorted into a warm living room, well-lit by the standards of this universe. L'Rell followed him, and he had a feeling she was preparing to enjoy herself. 

That was … probably a bad sign.

"Gabriel." 

All the colour drained from Madeline's face when he walked in, and it wasn't a Terran politician and sometime-traitor he was seeing, but his mothers' old friend, Danny Chan's mom, who grew orchids and made iced tea from scratch. 

He forced himself to smile and said, "Hello, Madeline." 

"They said you were dead." 

He held out his hands, _Say the reports are greatly exaggerated_.

Madeline's daughter -- Kyla? Kyra? -- scooped up a toddler from his playpen and looked around, but L'Rell was blocking the only exit.

"Excuse me," she whispered. "I need to change him--"

L'Rell looked at Gabriel as if asking his permission. He made a show of considering it, then nodded, and she stepped aside. 

When Kyla-or-Kyra Chan and her son were gone, Madeline said, "All the reports said you went down with the _Buran_."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear." He stalked over to examine the family portraits on the shelf by the window. "For example,' he said, picking up a picture of a smiling girl in a school uniform, "I heard that _you_ turned on me. Went crying to the emperor at the first sign of trouble." 

Madeline swallowed. 

"I knew it wasn't true," he continued. "Our families go back too far."

"Your mother always said you were touched by destiny."

_I find_ that _hard to believe._

But Madeline was pulling herself together, sitting up straighter, saying, "Sit down, Gabriel. I'll have T'Yann make us some tea, and you can tell me all about your plans."

_Because you're loyal to me? Or because you want to delay me until Imperial security gets here?_

He gave her a smile he hoped was charming, and said, "My plans are … nebulous right now. I'd rather hear about you. How's Proxima? How's your family?"

Her smile faltered. 

"It's been difficult. Since Daniel died." 

His throat tightened. Weird, to think the death of a man he hadn't thought about for decades could come as a blow. And it wasn't even the Daniel Chan he'd known who was dead; that guy was probably alive and well and doing something benign with his life in the Federation. The Terran version was no doubt a slave owner who pulled the wings off flies in his spare time.

But whatever he was, Madeline must have loved him, because there was a flicker of rage behind her words. Whatever happened to Daniel, Gabriel doubted it had been an accidental or painless death. 

And the anger was growing in Madeline. She was watching him, apparently coming to a decision. 

"I did betray you," she said suddenly. "I wasn't the first, but I also wasn't the last, and her Imperial Majesty was gracious enough to forgive me." 

She gave him a defiant look, nostrils flaring, lips pursed. She climbed to her feet.

"Kill me, if you want," she said. "Imperial Security will be here any moment, and Kyra's already transported herself to a safe house. You aren't fit to look at the emperor, let alone take her throne, Gabriel, and if my death proves my loyalty to her--"

"You don't need to die today." 

He hadn't heard the inquisitor enter, but there she was, standing in the doorway, L'Rell behind her. 

"Inquisitor Cornwell." Madeline saluted. She drew a shaky breath, attempting to compose herself. Glancing over at Gabriel, she said. "Is this … a test?"

"Congratulations. You passed." Katrina passed Gabriel and held out her hand, helping Madeline sit down. "The emperor will be pleased."

"I -- he--" Madeline was studying Gabriel now. He gave her a bland look. "You're not just a decoy, you _are_ Lorca." To Katrina she said, "Was the whole coup your operation? _Why_?"

"The emperor will be pleased," Katrina repeated. "My people are bringing your daughter and grandson home right now. And, Viceroy, don't you think it's time for your granddaughter to be with her family again?"

Madeline's gaze flicked over to the picture of the girl in school uniform.

"Permanently?" she asked, and the hope in her voice made Gabriel's stomach turn. 

"Of course."

This time, Madeline combined her salute with a bow.

"Long live the emperor," she said. 

*

Gabriel managed to hold it together until they had beamed back to the shuttle. Then he sank into his seat and exhaled slowly, watching his hands, marvelling that they weren't shaking. 

"You did well." Cornwell had taken a seat beside him, reviewing street-level security footage on her PADD. "I wasn't completely sure you could pass for him," she said, as L'Rell prepared for take-off, "but you exceeded expectations."

"Great." 

"Tell me why you're unhappy." 

His Kat would have phrased it as a question, but it was the sort of thing she'd ask, and he had to resist the urge to answer as if the inquisitor was his Cornwell. 

He said, instead, "Why do people here talk so much about destiny and fortune?"

She glanced over at the pilot's seat, where L'Rell was concentrating on an atmospheric condition report. Apparently satisfied that they weren't being overheard, the inquisitor said, "The average Terran doesn't enjoy much personal autonomy. If you have little or no power in your daily life--"

"You might as well believe in luck," he finished. "Where's Madeline's granddaughter? Is she a hostage?"

"After her parents were executed, she was made a ward of the emperor. She attends an elite school on the Imperial flagship."

"Sounds like a hostage to me." 

"What would you have us do?" Cornwell sounded amused. "Force the children of traitors to pay for their parents' sins? They're given the best education, and an opportunity to serve the Empire. And if their remaining family prove loyal, they can go home. If they want to." 

"Some don't?"

"Your counterpart didn't." 

He laughed, and she looked puzzled. 

"Is that funny?" she asked. 

"Just -- I didn't get on with my mothers as a teen. They sent me to an Academy prep school, and I did everything I could to avoid going home for the holidays." 

"And here I was beginning to think you and he had nothing in common." 

There was a contemptuous note she couldn't quite hide, and he was about to ask how well she had known his counterpart, when the inquisitor stretched, released her safety harness and stood up. 

"When we get back to the _Acheron_ ," she said, loud enough for L'Rell to hear, "you need to double the intensity of your training. The next mission may not be so simple." 

She crossed to the other side of the shuttle and took a seat alone, and they passed the rest of the journey in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Three more weeks passed, and Gabriel was recovering the strength and stamina he'd lost in in prison. And then some. If he wasn't quite as fit as when he'd been a thirty-year-old security chief, well, that was twenty-odd years ago, and he had plenty of new skills to compensate. L'Rell could still beat him in a fight, but she had to expend some effort to do it. Against humans -- two of them, and younger -- he could hold his own. 

"Where _did_ the inquisitor find you?" asked Kuznetsov as they cooled down. He took a long pull from his water bottle and added, "You don't just resemble Lorca, you _are_ \--"

"Enough," said Browning quietly. She was older than Kuznetsov, in her forties, with lines around her eyes which deepened when she smiled. Gabriel suspected that her forthright demeanour camouflaged a dangerous watchfulness. 

Kuznetsov stopped, giving Gabriel a rueful grin. He was in his late twenties, with the sort of rugged handsomeness Gabriel usually found attractive. He was also by far the most open and friendly Terran he'd encountered, but L'Rell had warned him that Kuznetsov earned his place in Imperial intelligence by compiling a brief documenting his commanding officer's political crimes and forwarding it to the emperor, along with the captain's head. Emperor Georgiou rewarded him by giving him his choice of assignments, and he requested a place in intelligence. 

He was either a pure sociopath, or a master of compartmentalisation. Which, Gabriel figured, was probably the case for most people here. It wouldn't do to be distracted by Kuznetzov's long mouth and firm jaw, even without the gap in their ranks and ages.

"Kuznetsov talks too much," said Browning when the lieutenant had gone to shower. "But you know that, don't you?" She gave him a sidelong glance. "'Lorca'." 

"You think he won't make it in intelligence?"

"He's not subtle enough to be an agent or political officer. An enforcer, maybe, but the inquisitor has plenty of those." She stretched, showing off her impressive musculature. Browning was short but broad, and rumour -- which was to say, Kuznetsov -- had it that she could arm wrestle L'Rell. 

Kuznetsov also said she was one of the inquisitor's top agents, that she was a chameleon who could pass for a downtrodden civilian or a high-ranking Starfleet officer. She and Kuznetsov were the first mid-ranking Terrans Gabriel had been permitted to spend time with, and it occurred to him now that she might have mistaken the nature of his interest. 

Indeed, she smiled as she caught him watching.

"Everyone knows you belong to the inquisitor," she said, keeping her voice low. "But if she ever lets you off the leash, give me a call." 

She turned and headed for the showers, throwing a smile over her shoulder.

He was no longer confined to one section of one deck; he could take his meals in the mess hall and spend his spare time in the rec centre. What spare time he had. The inquisitor was forever sending him new reports to read, new footage of his counterpart to watch. But the time spent around Terrans was valuable. He listened, mostly, and he learned. 

Many of the lessons were in the quiet moments. There was the usual bitching about assignments and shift rotations, but they were muted, people glancing over their shoulders as they complained. Like on the _Buran_ if people saw he was in the room, but the _Acheron_ was always hushed. Intelligence operatives and ship's crew regarded themselves as separate entities, even if they had to share space, and the Intelligence staff openly disdained the crew. 

But they gossiped freely, if quietly, about their senior officers. It was self-defence, Gabriel figured: if your commander could order your imprisonment, or even execution, on a whim, you needed to know if they were having a good day.

It was the same reason he collected every scrap of information he could glean about Inquisitor Cornwell.

She was, he was surprised to realise, almost popular. Or, rather, she was respected and even admired. Officers in the Imperial intelligence service were regarded -- not least by themselves -- as an elite force, whether they were undercover operatives or the more direct enforcers. Political officers, he came to understand, were drawn from both groups, and sometimes one of each was assigned to the same ship, so they could monitor each other. 

The inquisitors -- torturers and interrogators who wore the dark red uniforms of the medical division -- were a smaller group, and kept to themselves. Their major topics of discussion, in public, were heavy on high-level chemistry and cheerfully grotesque anecdotes about adverse drug reactions. They were not considered good company. 

At the very bottom of the ship's hierarchy were the slaves. Back home, Gabriel had never met a Kelpien; here, they were ubiquitous, and he had a terrible suspicion the Empire bred them. There were Tellarites, too, and Andorians, a woman with a ridged nose he eventually learned was Bajoran, and a young reptilian man, barely out of adolescence, who turned out to be a Cardassian. They gave Gabriel as wide a berth as their status permitted, and he in turn tried to ignore them. 

Klingon slaves were rarest of all, he learned. 

"I mean, Klingons themselves are rare these days," said Kuznekov. He was speaking to Browning, who clearly knew this already, but let him continue out of perverse amusement. "And they don't take well to slavery. Don't have the temperament."

"Kindest to kill them," said Gabriel, echoing something his counterpart had said of the Bajorans.

"Exactly," said Kuznetsov. "So how'd the inquisitor come by a Klingon? Let alone get to keep her as a personal slave." He glanced around. "I heard--"

He was cut off by the sudden appearance of a knife in Browning's hand. She slammed it into the table, millimetres from his fingers. 

The mess hall fell silent. 

"The Klingon," she said, her voice hard, "was a personal gift to Inquisitor Cornwell from her Imperial Majesty. The inquisitor trained her personally. The Klingon's a better agent than some Terrans. She's like a dog -- absolutely loyal, and she'll kill you if you look at the inquisitor wrong. Understand?"

Kuznetsov nodded, pale.

"Go," said Browning. "Put a few hours in on the weapons range. You need the practice."

When he was gone, and the conversations around them resumed, Browning slapped Gabriel lightly across the knuckles with the blunt edge of her knife. 

"You," she said, laughing. "I always heard Gabriel Lorca was a sadistic bastard -- but leaving me to listen to that bullshit?" 

"I'm sorry, did you need to be rescued?"

"Fuck you." Browning's grin faded. "That boy's gonna get himself killed. Sooner rather than later, I hope." 

"You aren't tempted to…" He nodded at her knife.

"Tempting. But no. He's the emperor's pet, at least for now. Safer to let him screw up all on his own." She sat back. "I'm looking forward to it." 

If Inquisitor Cornwell was widely admired, the _Acheron_ 's captain was a different matter. There was an occasional grimace when the captain came up, a twitch of a lip or a flicker of an eyelid which spoke contemptuous volumes. A tension. 

"Where's your girl?" someone would ask, and their friend would try to sound casual as they answered, "With the captain."

It was the flip side to promotion by assassination: advancement by exchanging sexual favours for the patronage of a senior officer. The consensuality of such arrangements seemed to vary, as did the extent to which they were monogamous, but Captain Chambers was -- he gathered, from the whispers -- notorious for ignoring anyone's desires but his own. 

Gabriel suspected his counterpart had operated on similar lines. _"It's good to be the captain,"_ he heard someone say, sotto voce, throwing a look look his way, and it sounded like a quote. It sounded like the other Lorca. Another shadow for his nightmares. 

"You're not sleeping properly," said the inquisitor over breakfast. She had him join her for a meal several times a week, to test his knowledge of his counterpart and, increasingly, find out what her agents and the _Acheron_ 's crew discussed when he was around. And, like Kat Cornwell conducting a mission briefing, she also used the time to check in on his mental health. 

He didn't answer right away.

"Nightmares?" she pressed. 

"This whole universe is a nightmare," he said without thinking.

Cornwell stared at him for a long moment before turning her attention back to her croissant. 

"I assume it's something inherent to your personality that makes you this arrogant," she said, tearing the pastry apart. "You're a newcomer to this culture, and already you think you can improve it. Even your counterpart waited longer." She popped a piece of croissant in her mouth, swallowed and added cheerfully, "I think I'll dissect your brain if you get yourself killed."

"I'll try to avoid that." 

He concentrated on opening the large, grey egg that sat before him. The greasy texture of the shell was unappealing, and the way Cornwell watched him made him suspect the dish itself would be somehow shocking. But he wasn't prepared for the writhing lizard embryo inside. 

"Live taspar," said the inquisitor. "It's a delicacy."

"It's disgusting." It smelled like a drain, and he couldn't take his eyes off the heaving little animal inside its albumen. "How do I eat it?"

"Swallow it whole." The inquisitor smiled. "Pretend it's an oyster." 

He could feel it moving in the back of his throat, but at least it tasted better than it smelled. 

He took a long drink of water and said, "Given a choice, I don't eat shellfish."

"'Choice'?" She shook her head. "Upper echelon Terrans have more refined tastes than their Federation equivalents, and Captain Lorca took advantage of every opportunity he was given."

"Yeah, I got that impression." 

"If you end up being served taspar, or Kelpien--"

" _Kelpien_?"

"--Or broiled Selay--"

"You eat _sapients_?"

"Yes," Cornwell snapped. "And if you react like this in public, you'll probably get yourself killed." 

_Better than turning into one of you_ , he wanted to say, but it felt hollow. 

_Survive. Get home. Warn them about these people. Then take all the therapy Kat can throw at you._

He concentrated on breathing. 

The inquisitor was saying, "I'm impressed with your work so far. Captain Lorca is the last man I'd expect to make it as an infiltrator, but either you're more different than you seem, or you share hidden depths. I suspect it's the latter." 

"Your Lorca's probably walking around in my life, and you're asking why I have nightmares." 

She huffed, a mirthless little laugh. 

"He's not mine," she said, "but I take your point." Standing up, she retrieved a PADD and passed it to him. "My side of the bargain. The first report from my pet physicists." 

She stayed by his side as he read, and Gabriel was acutely aware of her physical presence. She used the same hand lotion as his Kat, and he was struck with a wave of desire. For sex. For touch. For _home_. 

_A few minutes ago, she was telling you that she eats sapient beings on special occasions. Now you want to fuck her?_

With an effort, he managed to concentrate on the report. Most of it went over his head, but the executive summary was written for non-physicists, and essentially boiled down to, _We think we can replicate the transporter accident, but that would require Subject A--_ his counterpart -- _to be in the exact same place at the same time._ The estimated odds were astronomical. 

_Given time and further resources, we believe there are several options for opening a gateway between universes: creation of an interphasic rift by detonating a tri-cobalt device within a black dwarf; transporter modification; exploitation of the mycelial network as per the theories of Drs Stamets and Straal [note: Dr Stamets is presently in a coma aboard the_ ISS Charon _and Dr Straal is believed to have been killed by Captain Gabriel Lorca]; and manipulation of the subspace distortions in Freehold Sector._

_We do not recommend any of these options for the purpose of wholesale invasion._

"There you have it," said Cornwell quietly. "One way or another, you'll get home."

"Thank you." 

"Self-interest, Lorca. I don't want you in my universe." But she flashed him a brief half-smile that almost reached her eyes. "And I'll have one final job for you, when the time comes."

"My counterpart."

"I don't care if you kill him, put him in prison, keep him tied to your bed for the rest of your lives. I don't want him back here." She patted his shoulder, fingers grazing the back of his neck. He looked at her sharply, and she pulled away. 

_Hello, Katrina,_ he thought, and felt that stirring of desire again. 

She put her hands behind her back and said, "The universe will be better off without a Gabriel Lorca in it." 

He gave her a twisted smile. 

"Until that happy time comes, however," she added, "I have another job for you."


	5. Chapter 5

This one was an assassination. Gabriel wasn't surprised -- one of the weapons he had been training with was a phased energy sniper rifle, capable of hitting a target from low orbit -- but he was uneasy. 

"Some agents struggle," said Browning, watching him. The shuttle -- from the _Acheron_ , but rebadged as Shuttle #4 from the _ISS Buran_ and scorched with phaser damage -- was almost at Rigel. "Drugs make it easier, they say." 

"No." 

"Good. The inquisitor doesn't approve." She smiled at him. "You're her pet _now_ , but you're also a middle-aged rookie who's come from nowhere, and now you're on major operations. You're good, but if you slip up, you'll fall. Hard." 

"Was there a compliment in there, Browning?"

"More or less. You're prettier than the real Lorca. If you won't fuck me, you can at least stick around and let me admire the scenery." 

"Do people ever find your honesty off-putting?"

"Yeah, they're so busy looking for the lie, they don't see my knife until it's too late." Browning leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Assassinations like this are easy. Aim for the head, shoot, don't think about it too much."

From the helm, Kuznetsov called, "Approaching Rigel IV. Browning, we'll be in transporter range in five minutes." 

"Good." She stood up, adjusting her caftan and coat to hide the phaser at her hip and the knives strapped to her forearms. 

The target was one Baron Grimes, a Terran arms dealer and sometime ally of Lorca's. Having switched sides, he now repaid the emperor's forgiveness by spreading rumours of Michael Burnham's betrayal. Imperial propaganda portrayed Burnham as a war hero cut down in her prime by a treacherous monster, and the emperor regarded Grimes's gossip as a fresh betrayal. She had ordered Cornwell to deal with the problem, and the inquisitor dispatched Lorca. 

"Who better to kill Grimes than the man he turned on?" Cornwell had said. "Time to remind the Empire that Gabriel Lorca is a dangerous fugitive."

Grimes had been Browning's pawn for years; as far as he was concerned, she was the administrator of a dilithium mine, and sorely in need of weapons to keep her slaves and workers under control. Her task here was to escort him to the place where he would die, and then, in the aftermath, slip away and alert the Imperial agents assigned to monitor him that it was time to return to the _Acheron_ for debriefing ahead of their next assignments. 

The scanners gave them a clear view of the public square where Grimes was to meet Browning. Gabriel watched on the screen as she emerged from a public transporter booth and looked around, an unremarkable little woman with an unpleasant job and a busy schedule. 

"Time to get into position," said Kuznetsov. 

The weather conditions were perfect: sunny, with no clouds whatsoever. The upper atmospheric winds, when Kuznetsov opened the shuttle door, were audible, but the shields kept the worst away. Gabriel pulled the rifle from its case, assembled it, and took his position by the door. 

"She's spotted Grimes," Kuznetsov. "You ready?"

"Go."

The shuttle descended fast, jerking to avoid the city's traffic. Gabriel raised the rifle to his shoulder and activated the tactical scope. 

"Where's Browning?" he called.

Kuznetsov reeled off a string of coordinates, Gabriel entered them into the scope, and there she was, smiling and shaking Baron Grimes's hand. 

But his attention was on the man beside Grimes. Balding, with deep-set eyes and a proud nose. Gabriel had seen his face only once before, in a still picture, but he'd recognise it anywhere. 

Adrian Kodos.

Kodos the Executioner.

"You got the shot," Kuznetsov called. "What are you waiting for?"

He focused on Kodos. One shot, and the man would be dead in both universes. The Kodos of the Federation had murdered four thousand colonists. The Kodos of the Terran Empire… 

He wondered what would happen to him if he killed Kodos instead of Grimes. Or both. Could he claim it was an accident?

"Lorca?" Kuznetsov sounded pissed. "Lorca!"

_Torture followed by death._ He didn't think the inquisitor would believe it was an accident. Or forgive him. 

He focused on Grimes. Squeezed the trigger. 

The rifle fired a small, contained energy bolt. Grimes's head evaporated, leaving his body intact. A warning to others. 

Gabriel stood in the shuttle's doorway, knowing that the city's cameras were on him. The official Terran newsfeeds would ignore the incident all together, but the footage would spread regardless, passed from Terran to Terran until the whole Empire knew that Gabriel Lorca was alive and well and killing his enemies. 

He stepped back, but took one last look at Kodos through the scope. He had his hands on Browning's shoulders, offering her comfort, while summoning medics and security personnel. An upstanding citizen who had just witnessed a horror. 

Gabriel closed the door.

"Let's get out of here," he told Kuznetsov.

*

"Taking the initiative is a luxury you don't enjoy." 

The inquisitor's rage was a lot like the Admiral's. Quiet. Seething. But Vice Admiral Cornwell's anger had never had an undercurrent of barely-restrained violence. Gabriel watched the inquisitor pace the length of her office, all too aware of L'Rell standing silently in his blind spot. 

"You put the mission in jeopardy," the inquisitor snarled. "And for what? Governor Kodos is a hero of the Empire." She summoned a holographic display. Kodos's face hung between them. 

"In the Federation," Gabriel said quietly, "he was a monster."

"I know. Four thousand dead on Tarsus IV." A wave of her hand summoned a different record, one which bore the Federation seal. "Empress Sato had Federation personnel files deleted, but she turned the _Defiant_ 's other records over to Intelligence. I know you witnessed the executions--"

"It was a massacre."

"--And I know you led the manhunt to capture Kodos." The inquisitor regarded him thoughtfully. "I also know you witnessed his death. Or so you thought."

Gabriel's mouth went dry, and he knew that if he inhaled, he'd smell burned flesh. 

"What are you talking about?"

"The _Defiant_ ," she said, "came to our universe from over a hundred years in our future. Specifically from the year 2268." 

"Twelve years from now." 

"So I have you at a disadvantage." She dismissed the displays and sat behind her desk, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. "Your Adrian Kodos has another eleven years to live. Mine … well, that's another matter." 

Gabriel was lost. "Excuse me?"

She passed him a PADD.

"You want Kodos dead. Give me a reason. This is everything Intelligence has on him. Bring me evidence that he's committed a crime in the Empire, and I'll let you be the one to bring him down." 

"Why--" He couldn't begin to understand why she'd give him this power. 

"It's a gift," she said quietly. "And a punishment, but you'll see that soon enough." In a normal tone, she said, "I want your report tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

"Inquisitor." 

Before he reached the door, she said, "Gabriel? I understand the desire to kill your enemies. But if you jeopardise a mission like this again, you won't enjoy the consequences." 

*

Gabriel spent his night scouring Kodos's file for something, _anything_ , that would condemn him in the inquisitor's eyes. It was quickly obvious why she considered this a punishment, forcing him to learn the intimate details of the life of the man he wanted dead. His taste in music and literature, the books he read to his young daughter, the meals he served at official banquets, and the simpler fare he enjoyed in private. 

All too human, but the man was still a monster. When the food crisis hit Tarsus IV nine years ago, Kodos assassinated the incumbent governor, put himself in charge, and murdered four thousand colonists to make the limited supplies last a little longer. Only to have Emperor Georgiou herself arrive merely days later, accompanied by her right hand, Gabriel Lorca. 

The mass murder of imperial subjects was generally frowned upon, but Kodos had talked fast and thrown himself on the emperor's mercy, receiving not just her forgiveness, but her favour. In the nine years since the Tarsus IV massacre, he had been a loyal subject. According to the intelligence files, Lorca hadn't even considered approaching him for support against her. 

But then, Lorca didn't seem to care for Kodos; the records contained several sharply written communiques arguing against the imperial pardon and every favour the emperor had granted since. Another point of congruence between Gabriel and his counterpart, and he had no doubt that the inquisitor intended for him to see it. 

All this, but he still wanted Kodos dead. In any universe. This was the inquisitor's gift: he could make that happen, if he could only find a reason. 

Gabriel found nothing. Kodos was an exemplary subject, and enough of an imperial favourite that the emperor sent personal gifts to his daughter for her birthday. 

He conceded defeat after midnight. Short of engineering some kind of trap for Kodos, he could see nothing to justify an execution. 

_You already killed one man today. Now you want to murder another?_

He crawled into bed and lay on his back. 

_This is another move in sweet Katrina's game. She's making you one of them. Her loyal servant. Like L'Rell._

And, horribly, he was still attracted to her. 

When he finally slept, he had an uneasy, muddled dream about the two Katrinas. He was in his ready room on the _Buran_ , watching them go through his possessions. Dividing him up between them. Arguing, though their words were distorted and he could only make out their voices. 

He caught the Admiral by the hand and pulled her into his lap on the couch, kissing her hungrily. He was clean-shaven again, wearing his Starfleet uniform, _home_. Conscious of the inquisitor watching them, wanting to give her a show, he unzipped Kat's jacket and pulled her shirt over her head. 

"I missed you," she said, her hand tangling in his hair as he kissed her neck. But when they separated, it was her counterpart in his arms, and Kat who was watching, a look of contempt on her face. 

He woke up simultaneously aroused and nauseated. He jerked off mechanically in the bathroom, then sat on the edge of the bath with a glass of water, waiting for the queasiness to pass. 

It wasn't yet 0400. He went back to bed. 

This time, it was less of a dream than a memory. Lying in bed with Kat, the afternoon sun streaming through the window. Risa. Four years earlier. Any minute now, she'd roll onto her side, raise herself up on one elbow and say, "We can't do this anymore. I'm being promoted." 

As cadets, as security and medical officers, as ship's captains, they could sleep together. A flag officer and a captain -- well, if they formalised the arrangement, Starfleet would make it work. But certain professional opportunities would become unavailable. 

They were too ambitious for that. And they never had been much for formalities. 

Instead, Kat rolled onto her side, raised herself up on one elbow and said, "Why are you attracted to the inquisitor?"

He stayed on his back, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, reducing the world to nothing but the bed, the warmth of the sun, and Kat's hand on his chest. 

"Because she's you," he said. 

"I'll try not to take that as an insult." 

He opened his eyes and caught Kat's hand in his. "Sorry," he said, raising it to his lips, "did you think I only loved you for your personality?"

"We don't talk about love."

"Maybe that was a mistake." Gabriel turned to face her. "Turn down the promotion. Let's resign our commissions."

Kat smiled. "And do what?"

"Well, we've got this bed…"

"You'll get bored." 

"Never."

" _I'll_ get bored."

"I won't let you." 

"Gabriel…" Kat snuggled closer, so they were sharing a pillow. She whispered, "I know you're scared."

"I'm surrounded by monsters."

"And they want you to become one of them." 

"It's too easy. That's the bit that scares me." 

"Do you see a choice?"

"No," he whispered.

She pulled the blankets up, cocooning them both, and took his hands. 

"Do I have a choice, Kat?" he asked. "Is there a way out of this that I've missed?"

"Not yet," she said. "But watch. Listen. Find your escape route." Kat stroked his hair. "Be patient. Sleep with her, if you want." 

"For safety?"

"Maybe." Kat's smile was sleepy. " _I_ wouldn't give special favours to a lover. But maybe she's different." 

"She scares me. But I want her." 

"I know." Kat's eyes fluttered closed. "Just don't forget what she is."


	6. Chapter 6

Gabriel woke up with a pounding head and a silent Kelpien waiting at his door with an armful of clothing. New uniforms, he discovered, with the gold-edged black chestplate of a commander. Simple enough that he could dress himself, even with the ridiculous and entirely unnecessary leather gloves. 

The slave had also provided him with a knife and a phaser. Standard issue for Terran officers, but it was the first time he had been allowed to walk around the _Acheron_ armed.

He presented himself at the inquisitor's quarters and found her running uncharacteristically late. She leaned over her comm unit, wearing her red uniform pants and black tank top, feet bare, arguing with someone. The privacy field distorted her words, but she glanced up at Gabriel's entrance and nodded impatiently at L'Rell. 

"What's going on?" he asked quietly as L'Rell brought him a cup of coffee. The table was set for breakfast, but he stayed on his feet, reluctant to sit while Cornwell was standing.

"Politics," was all she said. "The emperor disagrees with the inquisitor's strategies." 

He tilted his head at the comm unit. "Is that…?" 

"That is Captain Maddox of the _ISS Charon_." 

Ava's brother. First officer on the _Saratoga_ in his universe. Nice guy. Owed some mysterious debt to Shev which she refused to discuss. 

L'Rell said, "The emperor has summoned the inquisitor to account for herself." 

"Great." 

"No," said L'Rell. "It's not."

The inquisitor cut the comm and deactivated the privacy field, but stayed where she was, leaning over her desk, head down, hair falling into her face. Gabriel saw there was a scar on the back of her neck, and another running across her shoulder and down her chest, disappearing under her top. She was breathing hard, struggling to control her rage. 

After a few minutes, she said, "Fuck it" under her breath and turned to L'Rell.

"I'm moving the schedule up," she said. "Have a shuttle readied. You depart in forty-five minutes."

"Inquisitor--"

" _Go_." 

L'Rell bowed and left. 

The inquisitor took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and stretched, then sat down at the breakfast table and motioned for Gabriel to join her. 

"The emperor has been made prematurely aware of some of my operations," she said, pouring her own coffee. Like Kat, she took it black and sweet. "I've been summoned to explain myself." 

"Is that--"

"It's a complication. And a pointless one. Happens every now and then." She sniffed at her omelette, then pushed it away, reaching for a pastry. "Even I have rivals. The emperor knows that." She drained her coffee and poured a second cup. "She likes to make me crawl once in a while. Affirm my loyalty." 

"And L'Rell…"

"Show me a Terran who can pass for a slave and I'll stop sending her on missions." She studied him over the rim of her coffee cup for a moment. "My other problem--"

"Is me."

"She doesn't really believe I have Gabriel Lorca stashed away here. But there are rumours." She got up to retrieve a small black box from her desk. "You got cousins in your universe?"

"Tons. One of my moms was from a big family."

"Good. It's the same here." Cornwell handed him the box and returned to her seat. 

He said, "You're not gonna down on one knee, are you?" She looked blank, so he shook his head and opened it. 

It was an Imperial Starfleet insignia, but monochrome, black on black. Turning it over, he saw it was engraved with the name of _Urquhart, Charles_. 

"I named you after your grandfather," said Cornwell. "Hope you don't mind."

"No. I liked my grandfather." And he didn't want to think of Grandpa Charlie in this place. 

She snorted, which he took to mean his counterpart didn't share his fondness for the old man, and said, "According to my records, which by now will have been uploaded to every Imperial database, you were the captain of a civilian freighter escort. Had the aptitude for Starfleet, but not the ambition. Your first mate mutinied and left you to rot on Tantalus V, where I found you and gave you a fresh chance to serve the Empire." 

"For which I'm eternally grateful and endlessly loyal?"

"Say reasonably trustworthy." She sighed and retrieved her omelette. "Eat," she added, waving her fork at him. "You need protein." 

And at least he knew where this protein came from. 

As she ate, Cornwell said, "According to the official records, you're five years older and a few kilograms lighter than your cousin. And an inch or so shorter." 

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. 

"It's plausible. You take up less space than him." 

He swallowed a mouthful and said, carefully, "You didn't like my counterpart much, did you?"

"No," she said. "And it was mutual. If his coup had succeeded, I'd have been dead within six months." She put her fork down and pushed her plate away. "I know you and your Cornwell -- your 'Kat'--" she pronounced the nickname with disdain -- "were intimate. Captain Lorca and I were not. It suited the emperor to make us rivals. We competed for her favour, and occasionally tried to destroy each other." She pushed herself to her feet, looking as tired as Gabriel felt. "Help me dress," she said. 

For a second he thought he'd started hallucinating. 

"Boots and breastplate," she clarified, pulling her jacket on. "While L'Rell is away, you'll take her place as my attendant and personal guard." 

He blinked. 

"Don't worry," she said, and he caught a glimpse of sincere amusement in her face, quickly concealed. "You don't have to bathe me." 

The inquisitor's quarters looked like they had started out as two, maybe three separate officer's quarters. The bedroom was spartan, with a bed at one end, a table at the other, wardrobe and dressing table in between. Someone -- probably L'Rell -- had placed the breastplate, shoulder guards, gauntlets, gloves and holster on the dressing table, with the boots on the floor. 

Cornwell turned and saw him hesitating in the doorway.

"Come on," she said. "I haven't got all day." 

The heavy gold breastplate left its wearer unable to bend much, so boots always went on first. The women's boots went up over the knee, and while it was probably possible to don them without assistance, that was only for officers with a lot of time on their hands, and a high degree of flexibility. 

He helped her foot into the first boot and slid the leather up her calf. He felt ridiculous and for some reason, ashamed, not for himself, but for the inquisitor, a grown woman who couldn't dress herself.

"It's a means of control," said Cornwell, settling her second boot in place and bending her knee. "If we need help getting dressed, we have to let someone else into our space. Slaves and lovers who listen and whisper." She stood up. "Pass me my breastplate." 

She lifted it over her head and held her arms out while Gabriel secured the sides.

"You can't change the system?" he asked. 

"Why would I? I'm the Master of Spies, Lorca. All the whispers come to me." 

"Except when they're used against you, and the emperor makes you crawl." 

It was difficult, to dress her without touching her. He had done this with Kat a thousand times, but never like this. Cornwell had made it clear she didn't want him. So he'd keep his distance. 

Except when his hand slipped and brushed her inner arm, and even through the fabric of her uniform, he felt her shiver.

"Sorry," he said. 

"Don't apologise," she said. "It's not Terran." She inhaled, checking the fit, and nodded. "Not bad for a first time." 

The shoulder guards clipped into place, followed by the gold thigh holster, the sheath for her knife, and the clip for the hypospray she liked to carry, loaded with sedatives or nerve agents depending on her mood. 

The rest, she could do herself. 

"I've had L'Rell since she was an adolescent," said Cornwell suddenly. "I trust her."

"She's very loyal to you," said Gabriel, watching her pull her gloves on. 

"Tested her, did you?" On went the gauntlets, followed by her rings. 

"Can you blame me?"

"No." She ran a brush through her hair. "I don't trust you, Lorca," she said, "but it's not as if you can betray me to anyone." 

"I'll take it." 

Cornwell started to lead the way out, but paused by the table to pick up the box that held "Charles Urquhart"'s insignia. 

"My turn," she said, and turned, stepping close into Gabriel's personal space. She fixed the pin in place on his breastplate, smoothed an imaginary crease and stepped back. 

"That's an Intelligence insignia," she said. "Now you really are mine." 

*

Gabriel had never visited the bridge of a Constitution class ship back home, but despite the passage of a century, the _Acheron_ 's bridge still resembled the images he'd seen. Save for the Imperial seal on the doors and floor, the armed guards flanking the turbolifts, and the fact that most of the science stations had been reallocated to tactical and weapons control. 

The bridge crew, including Captain Chambers, rose to their feet as the inquisitor exited the turbolift, saluting and bowing. 

"What brings you to the bridge, Inquisitor?" Chambers asked. 

"Orders. We're to rendezvous with the _Charon_ at Vulcan." 

Chambers gave the helm officer coordinates, ordering her to proceed at warp six. 

"Warp seven," the inquisitor said. "It wouldn't do to keep the emperor waiting." _Any longer_ went unspoken. 

The helm officer made the adjustment before Chambers could confirm the order. Gabriel saw his lips thin. 

"Engage the cloak," Cornwell ordered the operations officer. "I don't want rebels slowing us down."

She looked around the bridge, and, apparently finding it satisfactory, turned to leave, indicating that Gabriel should precede her into the turbolift.

"Captain Chambers," he said when they were alone, en route to her office on deck two, "is he another rival?"

"Sometimes. It's a thankless job. All the prestige of commanding a ship, and none of the autonomy." Cornwell's face softened. "The emperor once threatened to give the _Acheron_ to Lorca. It's one of the few times he and I ever agreed on anything. Come in," she added when they reached her office. "We need to prepare for our audience with the emperor." 

He stopped. "You can't be serious."

"I always intended to hide you in plain sight. This is just--"

"Insanity!"

"It's a gamble, Gabriel," said Cornwell. "Get us both some coffee, and I'll teach you how to behave in the Imperial Presence."

She spent the next hour instructing him on when to bow, when to salute, how to address Emperor Georgiou, and when it was appropriate to make eye contact. This was apparently the sort of thing Terran children learned as soon as they were old enough to read. 

"And how many Terrans actually get to be in the Imperial Presence?" he asked. 

"Spare me the lecture on democracy and egalitarianism." She sat back. "Quiz time. Were you close to your cousin?"

"You know, we used to do this as cadets. My Kat. Studying." She just raised her eyebrows, so he said, "No. Gabriel was younger, and I never saw him after he went away to school. But everyone said he looked a lot like me." 

"You didn't join Starfleet." 

"I like a quiet life. Or I did, until my bastard of a first mate stabbed me in the back and dumped me in a crazy house." 

"And now that you're Commander Urquhart of Imperial Intelligence?"

"I serve the emperor," he said. "And if the inquisitor sees fit to let me kill the assholes who betrayed me, so much the better." 

"Good." She relaxed a little. "The emperor has no reason to doubt our story. As long as you don't forget who you are--"

"Who I'm meant to be." 

She gave him a flat look. 

"Who I am," Gabriel conceded. _Who you're moulding me to become._

As if reading his mind, the inquisitor said, "Did you find anything on Kodos?"

"No. But you knew I wouldn't." 

"Not yet." She tapped her fingertips on her desk. "Were you tempted to create something?"

"A little," he admitted. "But I wouldn't know where to start." 

"Give it time."

"Oh?"

"I meant it when I said I was impressed by your work. Your hesitation on Rigel notwithstanding, I think you'd be an asset. It'll be a year or more before my physicists can get you a way home. I'm not letting you go to waste." 

He didn't know what to say. This wasn't really any different from the arrangement she had first offered him, but he had a better idea of what he was agreeing to now, and for how long. And what he was capable of.

"You should be flattered," she added. "People kill for this opportunity." 

"I already did."

"And you will again." 

She stood up, stretched, and motioned for him to clear away the coffee cups. 

"Time to get to work," she said. 

She spent the next hour in conference with her chief aide, a Commander Grant, going through the people most likely to have informed the emperor about her work with L'Rell and Gabriel. The list included Kuznetsov, at whose name Commander Grant wrinkled her nose slightly. 

The rest of the morning, and into the lunch hour, was spent with Cornwell's senior inquisitor, one Dr Lester, reviewing interrogation logs.

Gabriel's task was to stand motionless behind the inquisitor, prepared to defend her against any threat, and -- more importantly -- evince no reaction to the interrogations. Even when they became violent. Even when the subjects, after hours under the drugs, gave themselves away to uncontrollable crying or laughter. 

When Lester had been dismissed, he was invited to sit at the table beneath the narrow window and join the inquisitor for a meal. 

"Was I like that?" he asked suddenly, over noodles and a meat he hoped was chicken. 

"I'm sorry?"

"When you interrogated me. Crying, laughing, shaking." 

"I don't know." Cornwell put her chopsticks down. "I let you free associate for a few hours, once I realised what you were. You mistook me for your friend the admiral, which was useful until it devolved into explicit sexual fantasy." 

Gabriel's ears grew hot, and she laughed. 

"Don't be embarrassed. I've heard worse." She finished her meal and added, "And no, I didn't review the footage with Lester. Or anyone else." 

Did she still have it? He didn't want to ask. 

"Beta shift will relieve you in a moment," she said. "Get some rest. We rendezvous with the _Charon_ at 1900 hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! I finished the final chapter last night! So no one is going to be left hanging indefinitely.
> 
> *collapse*


	7. Chapter 7

The Imperial flagship was practically a city in its own right, with a bright beacon at its core which only Gabriel could look at directly. He had slept for a couple of hours, eaten, worked out, and now he was once again dressed as Commander Urquhart, following Inquisitor Cornwell through the corridors of the _Acheron_.

"What happens if the emperor sees through the Urquhart identity?" he asked in the turbolift to the transporter room. 

"Then our lives won't be worth living." She considered that, then amended, "Well, yours won't. Mine … maybe." 

"It's not just the propaganda coup of claiming her enemy's dead," he guessed. "She's terrified of the Federation." 

"We all are." 

Gabriel remembered the paper he had read in the first days after he was rescued from Tantalus V. 

"You're the one who said it was too dangerous to contemplate invading the Federation," he said. "The psychological threat--"

"Yes, that was me." Cornwell put the turbolift on hold. "And I stand by it. I can turn one Federation officer into something like an Imperial subject. But I can't let myself forget exactly how dangerous you are." 

"That's funny," he said, "lately I've been thinking the same thing about you." 

She gave him a long look, then set the turbolift to resume. 

_I can turn one Federation officer into something like an Imperial subject._ He turned that over in his head. 

Could an Imperial subject be turned into a Federation citizen? He tried to picture the inquisitor taking orders from someone like Admiral Terral, or Rear Admiral Shukar. Or her own counterpart. 

Unlikely. But impossible? 

It was less than twenty-four hours since he had carried out a political assassination. 

He was still thinking about it when they beamed over to the _Charon_ , where they were met by the ship's first officer and an honour guard. Or a security detail, he guessed, if the audience with the emperor went badly. 

The emperor -- her most Imperial Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Overlord of Vulcan, Dominus of Kronos, Regina Andor, Emperor Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius -- received them in her throne room, empty except for the _Charon_ 's commanding officer, and her advisory council, half a dozen men and women arrayed in a semi-circle around her.

"Your Majesty," said the inquisitor, bowing deeply. 

"Inquisitor." 

What struck him was the similarity between Philippa Georgiou of Starfleet and the emperor. Gabriel didn't know the Federation's Georgiou well, but she had left an impression. And the emperor, for all that she was wearing gold and black, embodying power and malevolence in her slight form, had the same presence. The ability to dominate a room without so much as raising her voice, or even speaking. 

She stepped down from her dais and advanced on the inquisitor. 

"I hear such … interesting reports of your work." 

And she turned her gaze to Gabriel, who straightened and involuntarily looked down. 

"And your associates," the emperor said. 

"Your Majesty," said the inquisitor, "may I present Commander Charles Urquhart of Imperial Intelligence?"

"I suppose late is better than never." 

"Your Majesty," said Gabriel, his mouth dry.

The emperor circled him, considering, _assessing_. When she was standing before him again, she moved in closer, and for a second, Gabriel thought she was going to inspect his teeth. But she just tugged at his beard, and smiled. 

"More like a brother than a cousin," she said to the inquisitor. "Is he loyal?" 

"Yes, your Majesty," said Cornwell. 

"Let _him_ speak," said the emperor sharply. 

"I'm honoured to serve you," said Gabriel. "Your Majesty." 

"Good." Emperor Georgiou patted his cheek, and he nearly flinched as her sharp fingernails grazed his skin. Then she turned to Cornwell, dismissing him from her notice, and said, "And your Klingon?"

"I've had reports of rebels infiltrating our slave camps, your Majesty. I have Terran agents among the overseers, but they can't pass for slaves like L'Rell does."

"You don't need to defend your work to me, Katrina," said Georgiou. 

"Thank you, your Majesty." 

The inquisitor relaxed a little, which was when the emperor struck, reaching behind her head to grab a handful of hair and pulling Cornwell to her knees. 

"What angers me," she said, her voice still low and reasonable, "is your silence. I trust you with my spies _and_ my interrogators. I gave you a rare Klingon slave -- herself trained in spycraft -- and the only ship in my fleet with a cloaking device. Don't I have the right to know how my resources are used?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said Cornwell. 

The emperor grabbed Katrina's chin, forcing the inquisitor to look up at her. "Imagine my surprise when I received word that you were harbouring Gabriel Lorca on the _Acheron_."

"Your Majesty--"

Georgiou's voice grew harsh. "Imagine my rage, Katrina."

"I'd never betray you," said the inquisitor. "My loyalty to you is absolute, your Majesty." 

"Hmph." 

The emperor released Cornwell, pushing her away. She swayed, and Gabriel wondered if it was safe to offer assistance, but she caught her balance. 

"Your loyalty may be absolute, Katrina," said Georgiou, "but my patience is not. Don't keep secrets from me again." 

"Your Majesty." 

"Get up." 

Cornwell climbed to her feet, hands clasped before her, eyes fixed on the floor. 

"And take that pathetic expression off your face," the emperor added, as if she hadn't just orchestrated a public humiliation. "You look like you've just been sold to a Ferengi." 

Cornwell forced a half smile. 

"That's better." Emperor Georgiou tucked a stray hair back into place behind Cornwell's ear, a possessive and familiar gesture that made Gabriel's throat tighten. "Join me for dinner, Katrina." 

It was not a request.

Gabriel's job was to stand outside the Imperial apartments in silence, along with four of the emperor's own guards. He was aware of their scrutiny, and that they must have known his counterpart, but all were too well-trained to say anything. 

Shift rotation brought a new set of strangers, along with a young woman with dark skin and elaborately styled locs. She looked too young to his Federation eyes to be a senior officer, but introduced herself as Commander Owosekun, the _Charon_ 's chief of security. 

"They'll be hours," she said. "You're welcome to join us in the mess hall if you want to eat. The inquisitor usually brings her Klingon, so--"

"I'll come. Thanks." 

She had obviously expected this, because she had his relief waiting to take his place. 

Imperial security's mess hall was large and dimly lit, with tall, narrow windows and the same geometric detailing he had noticed elsewhere on the _Charon_. There were no food synthesisers here, just Kelpien slaves placing communal dishes on the long tables. 

"You're in luck," said Owosekun as the assembled officers parted to make way for her. "We don't often get Kelpien." 

Gabriel was torn between the urge to claim a sudden desire to stand outside the emperor's door for a few hours, and gratitude that the inquisitor had prepared him for this. 

"It's not served at all on the _Acheron_ ," he told her, taking his seat beside her. 

"I heard the inquisitor has simple tastes." 

"To Captain Chambers' dismay," added the officer to her left. 

He watched the slaves. Did they know what was in the tureens they put in front of their masters? Had they prepared it themselves? Was he about to eat a friend? A relative? 

When everyone had food, Owosekun led a toast to the emperor.

"Eat," she told Gabriel when all were seated again. "The emperor gets the choice cuts, of course, and the ganglia. But you know what they say. There's no bad meat on a Kelpien." 

And she wasn't wrong. He'd eaten crocodile once on a school trip, and Kelpien was similar: light and lean, with a delicate taste, the perfect complement to the vegetables and rice that accompanied it. 

Crocodile wasn't kosher, and his mothers had something to say about it when they got word. But at least it hadn't been a person. 

"So," said Owosekun, "from civilian to Imperial Intelligence in a few months. What's that like?"

"Unexpected," he said dryly, and she laughed. 

"You'll want to watch what you eat," said one of the others. "You've made enemies for sure." 

"If _I_ had the inquisitor on my side--" someone else started, but Owosekun cut him off with a look. 

To Gabriel she said, "There was a rumour going around that you _were_ Lorca." 

He sipped his wine, which was excellent, and said, "Oh yeah?"

"Mmm. But Captain Lorca would see undercover work as beneath him. Like eating in the security mess." She raised her glass to him. "So, welcome to Starfleet, Commander Urquhart."

Between courses, he slipped into the bathroom, set the soundproofing to maximum and forced himself to throw up until his stomach was empty. Then he washed his face, rinsed his mouth out, and returned to the mess hall. 

Dessert was pie, accompanied by a fruit platter. Gabriel stuck to the fruit; it was no doubt all grown by slaves, but at least it was free of animal byproducts. _And how much attention would it attract if I suddenly became vegan?_

He returned to his post outside the Imperial apartments thinking about the things he had taken for granted at home. Meals he could enjoy. Colleagues he could trust. His ship. His crew. His cousins. His small circle of friends beyond the _Buran_ , people he could drink with or sleep with, people he'd trust with his life. 

_Kat._

His oldest friend, always the first to call him on his bullshit. He wondered how long his counterpart would be able to fool her. What he'd do when she saw through the deception. 

He was glad they had stopped sleeping together when she was promoted to flag rank. 

It was after midnight when the inquisitor emerged from the Imperial apartments, preceded by the emperor herself. Gabriel snapped to attention. 

"You're dismissed," Georgiou told Cornwell, but her attention was on Gabriel. "I'm in the mood for a walk before bed. Commander Urquhart will accompany me." 

Cornwell looked like she wanted to argue, but what could she say? She saluted, and watched in silence as the emperor led him away. 

"Aft hanger bay," Georgiou told the Andorian slave operating the turbolift. To Gabriel, she said, "Do you enjoy serving the inquisitor, Commander?"

"I do." 

"And you're well-rewarded for your work?"

_I'm allowed to live._

"Fairly, your Majesty." 

Georgiou laughed. 

"You _sound_ like Gabriel," she said, "but you're more diplomatic. Katrina says she hasn't taken you to bed. Is that true?"

"Yes. Your Majesty." 

"She works too hard. You should encourage her to relax." The emperor gave him a sidelong glance and added, "You may consider that an Imperial order." 

He swallowed all the questions he wanted to ask -- _Do you take this sort of interest in all your underlings' sex lives? What do you care who the inquisitor fucks? What do you get out of this?_ and said, "Yes, your Majesty." 

The turbolift came to a stop, and Gabriel followed the emperor out. 

Into hell. 

He had read of the Empire's agonizer booths, but so far he had managed to avoid visiting the _Acheron_ 's brigs. _Charon_ 's aft hanger bay contained more than he could count, and every single one was in use. 

"Your cousin's followers," said the emperor, raising her voice to be heard over the screams and the hum of the machines. 

"Wouldn't it be safer to kill them, your Majesty?"

"But less satisfying." She waved a guard over and issued an order that Gabriel couldn't make out. "This way, they serve as an example."

The guard was returning, half-dragging a prisoner. Ragged and trembling, but Gabriel would have recognised that face anywhere.

_No…_ he thought, and then, _Shit. Finn knows he doesn't have a Cousin Charles._

"Finn Urquhart," said the emperor as Gabriel's cousin was dropped at their feet. "Once one of my closest advisors. Now?" She nudged him with the toe of her boot, rolling him onto his back. "A warning." 

Gabriel had a lot of cousins on the Urquhart side. His mother, Caroline, was one of six, and he was the sole only child of his generation. But Finn, three years his junior, was the closest he had to a brother. _His_ Finn was amiable and mild-mannered, serving Starfleet in the Office of the Judge Advocate-General as he settled into a premature, easygoing middle age. 

This Finn looked up at him, no trace of recognition in his face. His pupils were tiny, despite the dim light, and saliva leaked from the corner of his mouth. 

"Catatonic," said the emperor in disgust.

Gabriel realised he was relieved, and hated himself for it.

"Pity," he said, trying to sound offhand. "He was a nice kid." 

"How long has he been like this?" the emperor demanded. "Were my orders unclear? I wanted Lorca's people _aware_." 

"Your pardon, Emperor." The guard looked like he was about to have a panic attack. "Sometimes, some people--"

"Break. I know." Emperor Georgiou drew her phaser and fired, looking bored and mildly irritated as Finn evaporated. 

Gabriel forced himself to keep breathing. 

"Keep that booth empty," the emperor told the guard. "I'm reserving it for someone special. Commander." 

He followed her back into the turbolift, wondering if there would come a point where horror was replaced by numbness. Or maybe he was there already, because he was still walking around, playing his role, instead of curling into a foetal position and screaming. 

He realised the emperor was speaking, and forced himself to pay attention. 

"--aware of the circumstances of my daughter's death?"

"Yes, your Majesty," he said. "She was killed by Lorca's followers." 

"So I was informed. Friendly fire, if you will -- Katrina _did_ tell you my daughter was a traitor, didn't she?"

"She did, your Majesty," said Gabriel. 

"I don't believe it," said the emperor. "Oh, my daughter betrayed me. But it wasn't friendly fire that killed her." She took a step towards Gabriel, her eyes intent. "Bring me proof that Michael died on Katrina's orders," she said softly, "and I'll give you a _planet_. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Majesty." 

"Good." She patted his cheek. "If you bring her to me, alive, knowing it was _you_ who betrayed her, the rewards will be greater than you can imagine."

The turbolift doors opened, and she stepped out.

"Good night, Commander Urquhart," said the emperor, and she walked away. 

Gabriel swallowed and glanced at the slave turbolift operator, but she would not meet his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn Urquhart is the creation of Poppaeasabina, along with the idea that one of Gabriel's mothers came from a large family. It's a shame he had to die, really.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't _quite_ earn it yet, but I've increased the rating to Explicit, because this is where the complicated power dynamics and consent issues really begin, and also there is touching in a sexual context, and I'd rather rate too high than too low.
> 
> Also, I think there are more allusions to past dub-or-non-con in this chapter than the rest of the fic put together. Which is nice.

Back on board the _Acheron_ , he went straight to the inquisitor's quarters. He found her sitting on the couch with a drink in her hand, wrapped in an embroidered robe that glistened in the light from the _Charon_ 's energy core. 

"Sit," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest to make room for him on the couch. "Drink?"

The bottle beside her contained a pale blue liquid which smelt a little like honey and a lot like alcohol. She passed him an empty glass.

"It's Romulan ale," she said. "Highly illegal. We're not supposed to consume delicacies from rival empires." 

The first mouthful tasted like warp coolant fluid, but the aftertaste was crisp, floral. 

"That's no ale," said Gabriel, sitting back. But it was potent and warming. He drank more. 

"Mistranslation. It's distilled, not brewed." Cornwell balanced her glass on her chest and stretched her legs out, resting her feet in Gabriel's lap. She was wearing something skimpy beneath the robe, and she was, he realised, very drunk. "The previous emperor tried to eradicate the grain they use. All he achieved was sending the price up." She took a long swallow. "And how is our current emperor?"

"Dangerous." 

She nudged him with her toe. 

"I knew _that_. What did she say?"

"She suspects you killed her daughter." 

" _What_?" Cornwell sat up, moving unsteadily, curling her legs beneath her. Gabriel caught her shoulder and pulled the glass from her hand before her drink could spill. "What did she say? Her exact words, what did she say?"

"That she'd give me a planet if I brought her proof that you killed Michael Burnham." 

"Is that all?" 

He took a long drink, and when the burn faded, said, "She wants me to sleep with you. Earn your trust. Then give you to her." 

"Oh, lovely." Cornwell shifted closer to him. 

Gabriel's head was already swimming, and too late, he remembered there was nothing but fruit left in his stomach.

Cornwell said, "I've been threatening to give _you_ to her. Mutually assured destruction. Give me back my drink." 

He returned her glass and held up his own in a toast. 

"To mutually assured destruction?"

"Mm." They clinked glasses, then she raised hers to her lips and drank until it was empty. "You gonna sleep with me?"

"And earn your trust?" His glass was still half-full, but he was having trouble forming words. "It's that easy?"

She laughed derisively, melting against him. 

Somewhere along the way, his left arm had curled around her shoulder, and now, if he slid his hand down her arm, her robe would fall, revealing the strap of her nightgown and an otherwise bare shoulder. Pale skin just begging to be kissed. 

She pushed her hair out of her face and pulled her robe up. 

"Do you sleep with the emperor?" he asked. 

"Not anymore." Cornwell plucked his glass out of his hand and sipped from it. "The wonderful thing about my current position," she said, speaking carefully, "is that I don't have to sleep with anyone I don't want to. Except her." She drained his glass and set it down heavily on the table. "Pippa prefers her lovers to want her." She picked up Gabriel's right hand and guided it to the base of her throat. "But she reminds me, occasionally, that I wouldn't be able to say no if she asked." 

"I think," said Gabriel, and between the alcohol and his growing arousal, he was having trouble forming words, "that you and she have an unhealthy working relationship." 

Cornwell tipped her head back and laughed. It was the most genuine emotion he had seen in her, and the most spontaneous. 

_Kat, my Kat._

When she was quiet again, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. 

She froze for a second, then responded, returning his passion, sliding her tongue past his lips as she unzipped his pants. 

She made a low, approving, insincere noise as her hand closed around his erection. 

Gabriel froze and pushed her away. 

"What?" she asked. 

"Not like this," he said. 

"The emperor wants us to sleep together." She reached for him again, and he wanted her, he wanted her _so_ badly. "It's safest to obey." 

He climbed to his feet, his arousal already fading, and stumbled into the bathroom to get himself in order. 

The inquisitor followed, leaning in the doorway, her robe falling open to reveal a plain tank top and shorts. Her arms were crossed, and she watched him with an expression of mild contempt. 

"It's not that I don't want you," he said. "But it's clearly not mutual. And I don't want a -- a perfunctory handjob after you got yourself drunk enough to fake it." 

Cornwell's laugh was bitter. 

"You don't want me," she said. "You can't even bring yourself to touch me unless I get you drunk enough to forget who I am." 

"Kat--"

Her slap left him reeling. He stumbled back and sat down heavily on the edge of her enormous bath.

" _Kate_ ," she said, looming over him. "You can't even get my name right." 

"Kate," he echoed, raising a hand to his throbbing cheek. He was breathless and dizzy, and, he was ashamed to realise, slightly aroused again. And she was so close and so warm, and it was all he could do to resist the urge to drop to his knees and plant his face between her legs until she was melting and helpless.

He remembered the emperor. _"You should encourage her to relax."_

"Sorry," he said. He wanted to reach for her, rest his hands on her hips and bring her closer. 

"Stop apologising." 

He kept his hands by his sides. 

"I do want you," he said. "It scares me. _You_ scare me." If he concentrated on speaking without slurring, he wouldn't get distracted by her scent. "And I don't want the emperor involved in my sex life." 

"On that, we agree." Kate stepped back, pulling her robe closed. "Stay," she said. "If she gets word that we're sharing quarters, she'll think you're following her orders." She pulled a hypospray from a drawer and loaded it. "Anti-intoxicant?" 

Gabriel hesitated. 

"Sensible." Kate injected herself first. 

This time, he accepted the drug, the effects of the alcohol receding at once. To be replaced by embarrassment, and more shame, and a little confusion. He watched Kate brush her teeth, wash her face, apply lotion to her hands. She seemed self-contained. Ignoring him, he realised. 

He couldn't blame her. 

"There's a spare toothbrush in the bottom drawer," she said, and left. 

She was already in bed when he emerged a few minutes later, curled on her side with her back to him. Gabriel stripped down to his shorts and climbed in, lying on his back with the blankets pulled up to his chin. The bed was big enough that they could avoid touching. 

"I watched my cousin die tonight," he said. "Yesterday, I killed a man." 

Kate rolled over to face him. 

"How do you feel?" she asked. 

"I don't know." 

"Maybe I've pushed you too hard." It was the closest he had come to hearing a Terran apologise. "I wasn't prepared for the emperor." 

"Someone's undermining you." 

"They'll regret it." Kate sighed. "This work -- it seems like months can pass, and nothing happens. Then everything hits you at once." 

"What do we do now?"

"Play along. Let the emperor think I'm besotted and distracted, if it makes her happy. Push the physicists to work faster." Kate's voice grew cold. "And find out who's working against me."

*

Kate fell asleep quickly after that, leaving Gabriel to lie awake, reluctant to move in case he disturbed her. He needed to take stock. 

_I am Captain Gabriel Lorca of the_ USS Buran _. A decorated Starfleet officer._ He was meant to be resilient. If he was surviving in this universe, that was a testament to the quality of his training. _Do what you have to do to get home. Let Starfleet know this place exists, that they know about us, that it's only fear that has stopped them from finding a way to invade._

And Kate had her pet scientists working on exactly that. 

He pictured himself explaining to Starfleet Command, "Well, I got home, but there's a ruthless invasion force on my tail…" 

It was a gamble. Would fear keep the Empire contained in its own universe? And for how long? A generation? More? 

_Which will last longer? Reluctance to expose troops and slaves to Federation philosophies? Or the Empire itself?_

Maybe he should give up. Run away, start from scratch on some remote outpost. Or tell Kate he'd decided to embrace life as a Terran. Dine on Kelpien washed down with Romulan ale until he couldn't remember anything else. 

Death would be preferable. 

_When they find a way to get you home, make sure there's only one copy of that data, and take it with you._

Challenging. But not impossible. 

_Survive. Get home. Report to Starfleet. Neutralise the other Lorca._

Beside him, Kate stirred and rolled onto her back, her foot brushing against his leg. 

_Have an extremely uncomfortable debriefing with Admiral Cornwell. Leave out the bit where you got a hard-on from being slapped by her counterpart._ Some things should stay between a man and his army of Starfleet therapists. 

If he moved onto his left side, he realised, he'd be in the perfect position to spoon her. 

He turned to his right instead, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

*

They fell into a new routine, a mixture of domesticity and polite distance. He kept his clothes in Kate's quarters, shared her bed, helped her dress. 

There was no more hiding his nightmares. He could go a week or more without one, and then find himself jolting awake, sweat pooling under his arms and down his back. 

The first time, she came out to find him pacing her living area, trying to get his breathing back under control.

"What do you dream about?" she asked.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." He had stripped his wet shirt off, but now he was cold. 

"Too late. And don't apologise. What do you dream?"

"What do you think?" She didn't answer, and he finally sat down and said, "Tantalus V. Those grey rooms. The hood they put on before they took me for a beating. Long, empty days." He tugged at his beard. "Kodos. My ship. My crew. The other Lorca. The emperor. My cousin." 

Kate stood in front of him, resting her hands on his shoulders. It was the first time she had touched him since they embarked on this false affair. 

"Me?" she asked. 

"No," he admitted. Not anymore.

She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. 

"I can give you something to help," she said.

"No. Thank you." 

She turned, and went back to bed. 

In public, he acted as her bodyguard, but he stood too close, and they let their hands or hips brush if there was someone close enough to see. 

It was a balancing act. The inquisitor had always been discreet in her relationships; if she started parading her lover now, the emperor would recognise it as a performance. But they needed to be seen. For word to get back to the _Charon_.

"Hear you've been promoted." 

Gabriel took most meals with the inquisitor, now, but when she was otherwise engaged, he returned to the mess hall. This was where Browning found him, just a few hours after her return from Rigel two weeks after the assassination of Baron Grimes.

"In fact," she added, helping herself to his fries, "I've been hearing all sorts of things about you, Commander Urquhart. It goes against the natural order. Usually the _Acheron_ 's a closed book. Gossip comes in, it doesn't go out." 

"Usually. But someone told the emperor that Gabriel Lorca was alive and well and working for Imperial Intelligence." He finished his steak, which was -- thank God -- replicated. "She wasn't happy." 

"And all your work goes to waste." Browning waved at a slave and ordered the same meal as Gabriel's, steak bloody rare. "So do I call you Charles now? Or is it still Gabriel?" She grinned. "Or Charlie?"

"Charlie's fine." 

"Was the inquisitor angry?" 

"Incandescent. But her sources say a lot of my late cousin's followers are still hoping he's alive. And people see what they want to see, so…" 

"Well, let's hope people aren't telling the inquisitor's sources what they want to hear." Browning lowered her voice. "Who snitched? Was it Kuznetsov?"

"Investigations are ongoing." 

"But she has to suspect him, right?"

"I don't think there's much the inquisitor _has_ to do." 

"Lucky her." 

Browning was one of the very few people whose attitude to Gabriel hadn't changed. Within a couple of hours of his move to the inquisitor's quarters, he went from being ignored to sought after. 

Some of it was people seeking favours from the inquisitor, or hoping that Gabriel might draw her attention to a report that praised their work. Others were just laying foundations, offering friendliness in the hope that he'd wind up in their debt. 

Others still wanted to spar with him, or train on the weapons range. These, he suspected, wanted to get the measure of his abilities, to find out what they would be up against if they challenged him in combat. 

He brushed them off with vague excuses and passed their names on to the inquisitor.

"Assassination is always a risk," she said, "though less than you'd think, in my role." 

Kate liked to spend the hour before bed nursing a drink and reading. Her preferred subject matter was usually work-related, which made sense; her counterpart considered psychiatry journals light reading for shore leave. The Romulan ale hadn't appeared again; tonight's digestif tasted of aniseed and a fruit Gabriel couldn't identify. 

He was working his way through a history of the Empire since First Contact, banned for its too-honest account of rebel victories last century. It still read like a piece of human supremacist propaganda, and he could only tolerate it in short doses. But it gave him context he badly needed for this universe, even if it did raise new questions. 

"Is there a point where you're completely safe?" he asked.

"Death?" Kate sat up, adjusting her robe. "I'm not being flippant. A natural death is the ultimate achievement for a high-ranking Terran." 

"And the lower ranks?"

Kate shrugged, putting her PADD aside. "They live, serve, breed, die. Or they rise. I did."

"How?"

She gave him a fleeting smile. "I don't want to offend your delicate Federation sensibilities." 

"Here's something you might not have realised about the Federation: our curiosity outweighs a _lot_."

"Oh, I know. Gets you killed, too." She held out her glass. "Refill this, and I'll tell you." 

He obeyed. Kate's hand brushed his as he returned the glass, a drop of liqueur spilling down their fingers. 

"Okay," she said when he had returned to his seat. "When I qualified, I wanted more than anything else to be chief medical officer on a Constitution-class starship. We had them sooner than your side, thanks to the _Defiant_. The ultimate weapon. Everyone wanted to serve on one." She sipped her drink and added, "Do you want to know how I got myself stationed on the _Enterprise_? You might prefer not to."

"Bribery?"

"For a start. Then seduction. Then -- not murder, but several people got sick." She frowned. "I think most of them recovered? Someone had to retire, I remember that. God, that was a long time ago now. I was so young."

"Young, and freshly assigned to the _Enterprise_. Was Captain April in command over here?"

"Yeah." 

"And … his wife was the CMO?"

"Mm'm." Kate stretched, then curled up at the end of the couch closest to Gabriel's chair. "Sarah." 

"You killed her." 

"First, I seduced her husband. Then I killed her, and took over her position." She pulled her robe aside, revealing the deep scar that ran across her left shoulder and down beneath her tank top. "I wasn't prepared for Sarah to fight back. She seemed so old and boring, I thought I'd be putting her out of her misery." She grinned. "She was about fifteen years younger than we are now, mind." 

Gabriel reached out to touch the scar, then remembered himself and stopped. 

"How are your delicate sensibilities holding up?" Kate asked.

"It'll take more than that to shock me at this point."

"Okay." Kate sat up. "Try this. Killing Sarah was a mistake, and I knew it right away." 

This clearly wasn't meant to be the shocking part. He raised his eyebrows and said blandly, "Captain April didn't appreciate you murdering his wife?"

"More like we both realised too late that I wasn't a good fit to replace her. As CMO, I was the target of every ambitious medic on the ship -- not to mention the addicts, and anyone with complaints about their treatment. And Robert didn't back me up. He just wanted to share me with his friends."

Gabriel went cold. "Against your will?"

Kate gave him a pitying smile. 

"See? _Now_ you're shocked." She patted his cheek. "I did warn you that we don't bother with Federation sexual morality, didn't I?" 

"You were--"

"If you treat me like some kind of victim, I'll carve you up and send you to the emperor in pieces," Kate snarled. "Bob April was a pig. So I waited, built alliances, and when the time was right, I killed him and gave the _Enterprise_ to Chris Pike. Then I became an interrogator, and I was very, _very_ good at that. I came from nothing, and now I'm the second most powerful person in the Empire." 

She slipped off the couch into his chair, her robe pooling around her as she slid her hands up Gabriel's chest and around his neck. She settled into his lap and kissed him lightly on the lips. He wanted to kiss her back, but she was already moving, her lips grazing his ear. 

"Do you still want me?" she whispered. "Knowing who I am and what I'm capable of?" She shifted, pressing her thigh against his growing erection. "Huh. I guess you do." 

"Kate," Gabriel said, pulling her robe aside to kiss her scar. When he lifted her tank top, he saw it ran down her breast, missing the nipple by a centimetre. She closed her eyes as he ran his thumb over it. 

Then she pushed his hand aside and put a knife to his throat.

"This is how he died," she said, pulling her shirt down. "I cut his throat, and called Chris in to watch him bleed out." Without moving the knife, she bent to kiss Gabriel. 

He flinched. 

She laughed, throwing the knife aside. 

"You're learning," she said, "but you're not there yet."


	9. Chapter 9

Gabriel wasn't sure what woke him. Movement from Kate's side of the bed, or a change in her breathing. He lay on his back, listening. 

She lay on her stomach, her breath coming in ragged pants. The blanket was pulled up over her shoulders, and one hand emerged to clutch her pillow in a grip so tight that, even by the dim starlight, he could see her knuckles were white. 

Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally, all too aware of his twitching cock and the rustle of blankets. He felt guilt as well as arousal. _You move into her quarters, invade her bed, now she can't even have an orgasm in private._

As if he had asked to be here. 

He turned onto his side, facing away from her, and started reviewing Andorian irregular verbs. 

She finished with a deep sigh of relief and release, and got up to use the bathroom. Gabriel kept his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxed. When she returned, and seemed settled, he slipped out from under the covers and into the bathroom.

His hand closed around his cock and he tried not to think about Robert April bleeding to death beneath her.

_Remember Kat, that time on Starbase Fourteen when our leave overlapped by forty minutes and we made every second count--_

His mind kept returning to Kate, straddling him with a knife in her hand. Her scar under his hand. 

_I know who you are, and I still want you._

Whether or not she wanted him -- well. _Enthusiastic consent_ wasn't a concept that existed here. He didn't completely understand her boundaries. 

He wondered if she'd let him lick her scar. Or if she'd slap him for trying. 

Gabriel closed his eyes and let his orgasm wash over him. 

When he emerged, Kate was lying on her back with her hands behind her head. She gave him a sleepy smile as he climbed beneath the covers, and rolled onto her side to face him. 

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yes." He pulled the blankets up over them both. "You?"

"Mmm." 

She took his hand and squeezed it, and didn't let go.

He fell asleep quickly.

*

L'Rell returned to the _Acheron_ after a month and a half, thinner, quieter and with a fresh scar that ran along her jawline from her left ear to her chin. 

Gabriel was permitted to remain while Kat and Commander Grant debriefed L'Rell and the two Terran agents who had infiltrated the slave camp as overseers.

"It was simple," said Agent Lofting, a heavyset man about Gabriel's age. "Rebels disguised as slaves were spreading unrest." 

L'Rell's nostrils flared, but she said nothing.

Agent Lopez added, "We could have been in and out in a week if the Klingon hadn't slowed us down." 

L'Rell's eyes blazed. 

"Thank you for your assessment," said Kate blandly. "L'Rell?"

"Three rebels entered the camp disguised as slaves," said L'Rell, standing at attention. "They wanted to get access to the Imperial shipyards. They were not concerned about slaves."

Agent Lofting sniffed. "Then how do you account for the subversive propaganda?" To Kate he added, "Images were painted on walls, floors -- even tables. Depictions of revolts and freedom. Where would slaves get these ideas?"

"What was the outcome?" Kate asked. 

"The rebels were publicly executed," said Agent Lopez. "Likewise those slaves who spread anti-Terran propaganda." 

"Good. Now, what was your impression of the administration? Loyal? Content? What did the overseers discuss in their off hours?"

When the debriefing was -- finally -- complete, and everyone else dismissed, Kate ordered L'Rell to bring her some lunch, adding, "By the way, I've assigned Lorca a new identity. He's acting as my personal guard between other missions. Work out duty shifts between yourselves." 

"Have I moved in on your territory?" Gabriel asked L'Rell when they were alone. 

"The inquisitor can make any arrangements she pleases." L'Rell lowered her voice. "I would like to speak to you in private." 

They retreated to the inquisitor's quarters, the only place on the _Acheron_ where they could be certain they were free from surveillance. L'Rell looked at Gabriel's comb and toothbrush in the bathroom and sniffed. 

"She has taken you for a mate?"

"Is that a problem?"

L'Rell bared her teeth. "Only if you endanger her." 

"You didn't bring me here to give the shotgun speech."

"No, I…" L'Rell hesitated. "Lorca. Tell me of the Klingons in your universe." 

Gabriel blinked. "Okay. Um, I've never had any dealings with them myself, you understand. The Klingon Empire is isolationist. There's no single leader; it's just the great and minor Houses battling it out for dominance. We encounter raiders, sometimes, but mostly the Federation avoids Klingon territory. And vice versa. In fact, you're the first Klingon I've met." 

"The Empire is unconquered?"

"Yeah. For a thousand years or more." 

"Klingons are not slaves." 

"An Orion crime family tried selling some children, a few years back. The Klingons left no survivors." He took a seat and watched L'Rell pace. "For what it's worth," he added, "in the Federation, we consider slavery one of the worst crimes which can be perpetrated against sentient beings."

"It's worth very little," L'Rell snarled. She stopped pacing and leaned against the window, looking out at the stars. 

"I escaped the destruction of Qo'noS with my mother," she said at last. "She was of House Mo'Kai. Of my father's House, she said nothing. She taught me the ways of the matriarchs of our house. Watchers. Deceivers. Weavers of lies." 

"Spies," said Gabriel.

L'Rell nodded. "We were captured when I was twelve." Her inflections had changed; where she usually spoke English without an accent, she was beginning to take on a more guttural tone. "My mother was killed. I was sent to a slave camp, like the one I infiltrated. I was taught to serve, and when I was sixteen, I was given to the inquisitor." 

"How long ago was that?"

"Eight years." L'Rell turned to face Gabriel. "The inquisitor is good to me," she said. "I have privileges. A name. I would die for her."

"Your loyalty has never been in doubt." 

Her lip curled. Gabriel had no experience reading Klingon expressions, but he thought hers might be self-loathing. 

"Those agents are idiots," he said. "All slaves want freedom. It doesn't take an outsider to put the idea in their heads."

"Do not tell me what slaves want," said L'Rell sharply. "I didn't want freedom. What is the point of crying for something that will never come? I will serve until I die, and I was content." She inhaled. "I told myself I was content." 

"So what changed your mind?"

"A slave. A man. He raised the children until they were old enough to be assigned duties or sold, and he whispered about freedom." Her fists were clenched. "I haven't met another Klingon since my mother was murdered, but he -- he spoke to me in our people's language. And I _understood_." 

"Was he executed?" Gabriel asked, but he already knew the answer.

"In front of all. But he was undefeated. He died with honour." 

"Did he have a name?"

"T'Kuvma." She pronounced it with reverence. "Nothing will change. We will always be slaves. But it was good to hear my mother's tongue spoken." 

She straightened. 

"Enough," she said. "Tell me of your new identity, and of everything that has happened while I was away." 

*

"Do any Terrans oppose slavery?"

"Sure," Kate said. "Some people think we'd be better off exterminating the lesser species. Or at least reducing their numbers. That was your counterpart's position." She looked up from her PADD and gave him a twisted smile. "I'm sorry. Not the answer you wanted?"

They were sharing the couch beneath the window, Kate's bare legs slung across Gabriel's lap. She had become more tactile in last few weeks, daring him to return the touch. It was not unlike his first adolescent relationships, moments that were ostensibly chaste, but with the potential for sex. But with the additional weirdness of being well past their teen years, and already sharing a bed. 

He had found himself absently stroking her ankle as he read, until he reached a chapter about the Andorian Revolt, and found himself thinking about that morning's conversation with L'Rell. 

"There are dissident movements that want to abolish slavery altogether," said Kate. She sounded bored. "They tend to be short-lived."

"Your work, I guess?"

"No need. Most just fizzle out before they come to my department's attention." She stretched languorously. "The average Terran may not own slaves, but even the very lowest of us benefits from their labour." She poked his thigh with the ball of her foot. "Even you." 

"Believe me, I haven't forgotten."

"Then stop being such a sanctimonious prick." Kate put her hands behind her head. "Did L'Rell say something?" 

"No, she's devoted to you," said Gabriel. He put his hands by his sides, forcing himself to stop touching her. "But her report this morning -- the way your agents dismissed it--"

"I couldn't insult them by praising her work over theirs. She'd be dead by lunchtime." 

Gabriel found himself stroking the top of Kate's foot. It was, he told himself, an involuntary instinct. 

To distract himself, he said, "The Empire has two weak points. You can't expand much more without losing control of your borders, and within? Every slave is a threat. They're all around you, and they know your secrets. And they hate you." He ran his hand up her calf to her knee. "You can hang on for another few generations. Maybe three hundred years, tops. Then the Empire's gonna fall. And you'll be surrounded by the aliens you've spent the last two centuries mistreating." He gave her a thin smile. "But you already know that, don't you, Inquisitor?"

Kate sat up slowly, her eyes glittering. 

"The Empire," she said, "will endure. It might change, but it will never fall." 

"All empires fall." 

"In your universe." She put her arms around his neck. "The emperor wanted to slow the expansion for a generation. Consolidate what we have."

"My counterpart disagreed. I know." 

"Lorca said we needed new propulsion systems. He had pockets of scientists everywhere, exploring artificial wormholes and interdimensional spore networks. Fringe science. You can kiss me, by the way." 

Gabriel did so, but he also took the opportunity, as he slid his arms around Kate's waist, to see if she was armed. 

She wasn't, so he kissed her again. 

"Were there results?" he asked when they parted for breath. 

"Difficult to say." She was kissing his jaw, her lips against his artery. "A lot of people have died. A few of the ones still around are working to get you home. So we'd better hope they're onto something." 

"Home," he echoed, his mouth in her hair. 

Kate stilled, pulling away.

"I'm going to bed," she said, reaching for her PADD, and despite her dishevelled hair and swollen lips, she was as self-possessed and hard as if she was wearing her armour. 

Gabriel went to take a cold shower. 

She was reading when he came out, but she put her report down as he climbed into bed. 

"Believe it or not, I like you," she said. "But I have a hard time forgetting that you know how to touch me because you've done it all with my counterpart." 

"I haven't done this," he said.

Kate raised her eyebrows.

"Cohabiting," he clarified. "Even when we served on the same ship, Kat and I never shared quarters." 

"Hmm." She curled up on her side, facing him. "Your choice? Or hers?"

"Mutual." He lay down, pulling the blankets over both of them. "We never actually talked about it. But our careers always came first." 

"I guess my counterpart and I have something in common after all." Kate turned over and spooned against him, pulling his arm around her waist. "Lights off," she said. 

He fell asleep with his face in her hair. 

He woke the next morning to find her sitting at her dressing table, watching him in the mirror with a pensive look on her face.

"What?" he said. 

"Nothing." Kate leaned into the mirror and began to apply her eye make-up. "It's Sunday. May 11, 2256." 

A few days until the anniversary of his arrival in this place. But otherwise… "Is that significant?"

"Not in this universe." 

"Nor mine." 

He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and trim his beard, and it wasn't until that evening that he remembered that Kate had access to Federation archives from 2268.

When he asked her about it, she said it was nothing. 

"Just a passing thought." 

He didn't believe her. But short of breaking into classified Imperial files, he had no way of finding out for himself. And that would be burning the very bridge he was standing on.


	10. Chapter 10

"Send Commander Urquhart. I'm sure he could use the change of scene." 

Gabriel, doing his best impression of a fly on the wall of Kate's office, blinked and said, "Of course, Inquisitor." 

"Begin preparations," Kate told Commander Grant. "He'll depart in four hours. T'Shel will act as back-up." 

"Yes, Inquisitor."

When Grant had left, Kate turned in her chair and said, "Were you listening to any of that, or did you just wake up when I said your name?"

"You suspect an arms dealer in the Orion Protectorate of selling Starfleet weapons. If it's true, you need to find his supplier." 

"Good." She sipped her coffee, found it cold, and passed him the cup. "My first guard really did sleep through these meetings. Standing up, eyes open. Useless." She accepted the fresh coffee from him and added, "Took a knife for me, though, I'll give her that. You're dismissed, Commander." 

T'Shel was a Vulcan and a Starfleet officer. She carried the rank of lieutenant commander and wore medals proclaiming her a master poisoner with five kills to her name, and regarded Gabriel with supercilious dislike. 

The journey to Freehold Base lasted four days, and they spent most of it in silence. Their ship, a civilian personal cruiser, was designed for speed and manoeuvrability rather than comfort, with narrow bunks in a single cabin. 

T'Shel meditated in her off hours. 

Gabriel slept fitfully, waking now and then to find himself disoriented and homesick. Not for the Federation, but for the _Acheron_ , and Kate. 

_That's bad. Very bad,_ he thought at one point. 

And, _Is it love? Or Stockholm syndrome?_

He'd been in love. This wasn't that. And it wasn't just his feelings for Kat, which were nebulous and deliberately unexamined, applied to her counterpart. Similar, but not interchangeable. 

_My life depends on pleasing her. Therefore, I want to please her._

He considered that, then rejected it as too simplistic. But maybe not completely untrue. 

The rest of the time, he spent reading the Kodos file. Again. But at home, Kodos' crimes had left him full of grief and violent rage. Here they were simply … background noise. Worse things happened every day in the Terran Empire. On Kate Cornwell's orders, some of them. 

It wasn't that he didn't care, but if he allowed himself to feel anything close to the rage this place deserved, he'd get himself killed. 

_Survive and get home. That's all you need to do._

Freehold was on the edge of what was, in Gabriel's universe, Orion space, dangerously close to the Klingon border. Here, it was just another part of the Terran Empire -- but a lawless part, where even Kate's resources were limited. 

Gabriel had visited once, about fifteen years earlier, in pursuit of a Nausicaan smuggler. The space station was over a century old, a rough and ready assemblage of old ships and derelict mining rigs. If a section became too difficult to maintain, it could be detached and destroyed, and if the controlling syndicates were feeling _very_ benevolent, any inhabitants might be evacuated first. 

Freehold was chaotic and dangerous, and so was the so-called Freehold Sector, a region of space dotted with nebulae, dark matter anomalies and subspace distortions. These rendered the sector almost totally impenetrable to sensors, and dangerous to navigate even if you had the codes and passwords that got you through syndicate checkpoints and blockades. 

T'Shel had the codes and passwords, and Gabriel was a good enough pilot to get them to Freehold Base unscathed. 

He went aft and changed into civilian clothes: nondescript pants and shirt, and a jacket which had belonged to his counterpart. The emperor had it sent from the _Charon_ with her personal greetings, and Kate promptly sent it to her lab to be checked for surveillance devices. None were found, but Gabriel still hesitated before he put it on. He'd never worn it in his life, but it smelled like it belonged to him. 

He was oddly relieved to realise it was too loose across the shoulders. He still hadn't regained all the weight and muscle he'd lost on Tantalus V. He wasn't quite his counterpart.

"Be careful," said Lieutenant Commander T'Shel, handing him a communicator, one of the heavy little Orion models. "I don't want this mission to fail because you're not adequately rested." 

"At the first sign of trouble, I'll call you."

She raised her eyebrows. "You will retain radio silence until the appropriate moment, Commander Urquhart." 

"That, too." 

He didn't feel great about putting his life in T'Shel's hands, but it wasn't as if he had a choice. 

Customs, on Freehold, consisted of two Orions and a Klingon who wanted to know why they shouldn't ransack his ship and take its contents for themselves. Gabriel gave them enough gold-pressed latinum to keep them happy, though not so much as to be memorable, and let them know the ship's remaining occupant was armed. 

Then he went exploring. 

Though he saw more humans on this Freehold than the one at home, there were more aliens -- more _free_ aliens -- than he'd seen in one place since he arrived in the Terran Empire. It was good to walk among different people, hearing other languages, smelling unfamiliar foods. Almost like being home. 

Except for the crumbling bulkheads, the bodies lying drunk, drugged or dead in the shadows, the hawkers selling everything from moonshine liquor to children, and the ever-present potential for violence. 

_All this exists back home, too,_ he reminded himself. _But you never had to be part of it._

The serious arms dealers operated deep within the station, out of a former cargo freighter which dated back at least a century if Gabriel was any judge. Even here, the weapons on display were small, blades and hand phasers with their power packs removed. Anything bigger was stored elsewhere, accessible by invitation only. 

He paused to look over a table of Klingon swords. Would L'Rell appreciate these? Or would Kate take it amiss if he bought her slave a gift? 

He walked on. 

The stall he wanted was operated by a skinny Orion girl of about fourteen. She was leaning back in a chair with her boots on the table, nonchalantly cleaning a disruptor, but Gabriel suspected she had been watching him since he came into view. 

He took his time examining the single Starfleet-issue phasers on display. Pistols, rifles, she had the full set. 

"See anything you like?" the girl asked.

"Maybe." He hefted the phaser rifle. "This is the old model. Obsolete." 

The way this was meant to go, they'd have a long conversation in which she denied having access to anything newer or more powerful until he demonstrated that he was more than a casual buyer. Then she'd suggest that maybe her grandfather -- known throughout the underworld as the Vole -- could get him what he wanted, for a price. He'd let her know he was good for it. She'd give him access to -- not her grandfather, but maybe an uncle. Uncle -- or aunt, or parent -- would take him out back, check him for weapons and surveillance devices, maybe show him the skull of the last guy to try to double cross them, and then he _might_ get to meet the man in charge. 

"Grandpa has new one out back," said the girl right away. "My sister will show you." 

Gabriel forced himself to grin, but this diversion from the standard script was a very bad sign.

The sister was almost as tall as L'Rell and built like a shuttlecraft. She greeted Gabriel with a grunt of, "Captain Lorca."

_Shit, shit, shit._ Kate had no records of his counterpart having any dealings with this guy, but the guy managed to organise an almost-successful coup in the middle of a surveillance state. No way Imperial intelligence had uncovered all his secrets. 

So he was about to bluff his way through an encounter with a dangerous criminal, with no preparation or briefing, and his back-up a near stranger. 

Or he was just going to be shot in the head. 

He mentally catalogued his weapons. Knife at his hip, another in his boot. A disruptor in his coat. He might be able to hold the sister off, if it came down to a fight, but if she had reinforcements, he was dead. 

She led him into the bowels of the onetime cargo ship. The mess hall was used as a bar, but beyond that, the former crew quarters had been transformed into a display room for the exclusive use of the his target.

The Vole would have been small even if he weren't emaciated. Age and malnutrition had faded his skin to an ashy grey-green, and the blurred, amateurish tattoos around his wrists couldn't disguise the scars left by shackles. Gabriel had no doubt there were matching marks on his ankles. 

A former slave. 

There was nothing in the file about this. Kate's network had let her down badly. _If I make it out alive,_ he silently promised her, _you're going to owe me._

The Vole was holding court. Despite his worn appearance, he seemed as confident and powerful as Emperor Georgiou in her throne room. 

_His_ throne, Gabriel noted, was a wheelchair, and the two women behind him -- both bore a striking resemblance to his granddaughters -- were as much nurses as guards. 

"Captain Lorca." 

His voice was a low wheeze. He raised his hand, which trembled badly, and one of the women behind him poured an amber liquid into a glass, then passed it to her -- sister? Daughter? -- who held it to his lips. 

Both women were armed. 

"It's been too long," said the Vole. "Sit down. Drink with me."

Gabriel obeyed, and a glass of the amber liquid was put in front of him. It smelled faintly of apples, but, on tasting, turned out to be only mildly alcoholic.

"I know how much you like to have your wits about you, Captain," said the Vole. "What brings you to Freehold? Not much of an afterlife for a dead man." 

"Business," said Gabriel. "Same old." 

"Really?" The Vole leaned forward, peering myopically at him. "My Nessa said it looked like you were buying, not selling." 

_Oh, fuck me._ I'm _the one selling Starfleet weapons. Or I was. My counterpart._

"Of course," the Vole continued, "I profit either way." He waved a hand at one of the secure cabinets. "Arra," he said to the woman who had escorted Gabriel in, "show the captain the new Starfleet rifles."

Arra threw a rifle at Gabriel. He caught it, noting the lack of power pack, and motioned at his coat, saying, "Do you mind…?"

"Please." 

The reader was in the same pocket as his communicator. It was easy to hit the alert button as he withdrew the reader. 

If he was lucky -- and the jury was out on that point right now -- T'Shel would be pinpointing his location and locking the transporter onto his signal, ready to pull him out at the first sign of trouble. 

If he was unlucky … well, maybe Kate would visit some horrible fate on T'Shel if she returned to the _Acheron_ without him. 

The reader beeped and displayed the phaser log, the rifle's serial number and history. Manufactured fifteen months ago, in a munitions factory on Mars. Allocated to the _ISS Shenzhou_ , reported damaged and destroyed shortly after delivery, authorisation, Captain Michael Burnham.

"I have fifty on hand," said the Vole. "Purchased from your late consort. Or … is she? Late? I hear they never found a body." He smiled at Gabriel, revealing crooked, rotting teeth. "An imperial princess, short of funds. I'm afraid I didn't pay what they were worth." 

"Let me guess," said Gabriel, "you're still gonna charge me full price." 

"Just business, Captain. You understand."

"Of course." 

The Vole signalled one of his nurse-bodyguards, and she withdrew a PADD from her pocket. 

"Transfer the credit," he said, "and we'll organise pick-up in the usual way." 

It could only be a trap. Take his money, then -- what? Kill him, or take him captive and sell him to the highest bidder? 

He authorised the transfer. 

Arra pulled a hand phaser from the cabinet and powered it up. _Set to stun_ , Gabriel noticed, but he was already slipping the Vole's PADD into his pocket and, in the same movement, raising the _Shenzhou_ phaser rifle like a club, bringing it down on Arra's head with all the force he could muster. 

It made a sick crunching sound as it landed. He grabbed her hand phaser as she collapsed and fired at the taller of the two nurse-bodyguards. 

The shot winged her, knocking her off-balance but leaving her conscious. He discarded the phaser in favour of his own weapon. 

Her companion, meanwhile, had drawn a disruptor. Gabriel dodged, but too late, and for a moment, his entire existence was heat and pain. 

Time enough for the other woman to draw her weapon. 

"Kill him!" the Vole was wheezing. "I don't care how valuable he is, I want him dead."

_I'm so far from home, and I'm going to die._ No body. No record of what happened to him. His friends and family wouldn't even know he was gone. _There's a stranger living my life right now._

He was afraid. 

Fear gave him speed. 

Enough to pull the knife from his boot and throw it. Not what it was designed for, and it flew wide, missing his target's throat and hitting her cheek instead. 

She went down screaming, and the other woman pulled herself to her feet, fired a couple of wild shots, then threw her own weapon aside to tend to her. 

Gabriel raised his disruptor, set it to kill and shot the Vole. 

For a moment, as the Orion disintegrated into atoms, there was silence. 

Then he fumbled for his communicator with his burned hand, keeping his weapon pointed at the two injured women. It took a couple of goes to flip it open. 

"Get me out of here," he told T'Shel. 

To his relief, she obeyed.

*

"Some back-up you were," he said as she treated his disrupter burns. 

"I was monitoring the situation." She injected him with a local anaesthetic. "You had it well under control." 

"That's one word for it." 

"Our information was incomplete, but you adapted to the situation competently." 

He grinned. "High praise, from a Vulcan. I'll take it." 

She raised an eyebrow, not offended, but puzzled, and Gabriel realised he had spoken as if she was a member of his crew. Terrans didn't set out to build a rapport with aliens, not even the ones in Starfleet uniforms. T'Shel was a member of a tiny minority, despised by all sides. More or less a collaborator. Befriending her would single both of them out. 

They made the rest of the trip in silence.

They rendezvoused with the _Acheron_ in the Kressari system. The inquisitor herself was waiting in the transporter room when they beamed in, L'Rell by her side. 

"Well done," she said, moving forward as Gabriel stepped off the pad, looking up at him. For a few seconds, they were close enough to kiss. 

Then she looked away, turning her attention to T'Shel.

"I received your communique," she said. "The analyst responsible for the incomplete briefing is being disciplined."

T'Shel gave a brief, satisfied nod. 

"You acquitted yourselves well under difficult circumstances," Kate continued. "I've recorded commendations in your files." 

"Thank you, Inquisitor." 

"I'll conduct your debriefings personally." 

And separately. Standard procedure, even in the Federation. Gabriel was released to get proper treatment for his injured hand, change into a clean uniform, and eat.

He took advantage of the time to go through some files. His access was fairly limited, but better than nothing. He'd had an idea on the trip back from the Freehold Sector, and now he confirmed that it was feasible, if dangerous. 

"It's suicide," said Kate when he suggested it. "If the emperor finds out--"

But he could see her turning it over in her mind. She had already fudged the records to bring 'Charles Urquhart' into existence. Doing it again was a gamble, but…

"And T'Shel didn't see the transfer history," Kate asked again. 

"No, I was on my own in there."

"But afterwards, on the trip back -- you might have left the PADD lying around."

"I kept it on my person. It's a small ship, Kate. She couldn't exactly sneak around behind my back."

"Hmm." Kate had copied the data from the Vole's PADD onto her own systems. She was looking at the date of purchase of the _Shenzhou_ phaser rifles. "I _could_ change it," she said. "And it's true, there are almost as many rumours of Burnham's survival as there are of yours. The question is, would the emperor think to double-check?"

"She'd be checking against your own systems. Bad information all the way down." Gabriel leaned forward. "This buys you time. Gets the emperor off our backs."

"Mm." Kate tapped her fingers against her desk. "She loved her daughter. Misses her. If she believes Michael might be alive--"

"It's cruel. I know." 

"I was going to say, she'll want me to divert my resources to find a woman I killed myself. Not just a waste of time, but at some point we're going to have to concede defeat. It'll be like losing her daughter all over again." She rested her chin in her gloved hands. "Of course, if the fates are kind, you'll be safely back in Federation space by the time that problem arises."

Gabriel said, "You thinking of coming with me? Requesting asylum?"

Kate's smile was thin. "I don't think I'd win many friends in the Federation. But I'll need to account for your disappearance as well."

"How about a heroic death, bringing down the emperor's treacherous daughter?"

"Maybe." Kate closed the file. "Computer, seal these records under authorisation Cornwell Pi Beta Alpha."

"Records sealed."

"I need to think about it," said Kate, standing up. Moving behind Gabriel, she rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "You did good work," she said. 

"I killed an old man and maimed or killed three civilians."

"Criminals. Enemies of the Empire. Not worth your concern." 

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the teenage girl at the outer booth. Sending him into a trap. 

"It was you or them," Kate added. 

And that was true. Even in the Federation, he'd have been justified. 

But in the Federation, he might have been more troubled by the deaths and injuries suffered at his hands. All he felt right now was relief at having survived, and anger that he had been endangered by someone else's carelessness. 

And, he realised, leaning into Kate and inhaling her scent, he felt a powerful desire to stop wasting time, to grab his opportunities with both hands and--

Pin her to the wall and kiss her until she was gasping, then pull aside just enough of their uniforms to let them fuck. Hold her in place and lick and suck and bite until she was as helpless as he'd been all these months. 

He looked up, and kissed Kate's cheek gently. Then stood up and left without waiting to be dismissed.


	11. Chapter 11

Gabriel woke up one morning a few weeks later and realised it was his birthday. His second birthday in this universe. The last one had passed unnoticed on Tantalus V. 

Kate was already in the bathroom, half-dressed, uniform pants and bra. Gabriel leaned in the doorway, waiting for her to finish, and she caught his eye in the mirror. 

"What?" she said. 

"It's my birthday."

She pulled her tank top on and said, "You want a cake?"

"And a pony." 

She gave him a fleeting, enigmatic smile. "I've got something better." 

It was an updated report from her physicists. Per her instructions to find a route between universes as fast as possible, noting the limitations of the technology, blah, blah, blah--

"Six months," said Gabriel, not tasting the chilaquiles he was shovelling in his mouth as he read. 

"Or less," said Kate. "Coffee?"

"Please." 

"There are drawbacks, of course. Freehold Sector is unstable in every sense of the word. It won't be a smooth trip." Kate swallowed a mouthful of beans and added, "That can also work to our advantage. No incentive to make the trip again. From either side. When you leave, you're gone for good." 

She almost sounded sorry about that. Or maybe he was projecting. 

"In the meantime," she said, "the emperor is quite convinced that her daughter is alive and well and hatching all sorts of new betrayals. She's furious, of course -- but not at us." 

"Has she said anything about--"

"You? No. You can sleep easy knowing you're once again beneath her notice." 

She did not, he noticed, suggest it was time he moved back to his own quarters. Maybe she enjoyed their semi-intimacy. 

Or maybe she just liked watching him suffer. 

Or, he decided a few days later, maybe it was a relief to be perceived as off-limits to any would-be seducer hoping to sleep their way to a promotion. Or, at least, to any would-be seducer with common sense. 

"But what does she like _in bed_?" Kuznetzov asked. 

Gabriel was, for once, taking his evening meal in the mess hall. Kate had been in conferences all day, and even he and L'Rell were excluded.

"Urquhart knew exactly what you meant," said Browning, exasperated. "He was trying to give you an easy way out." 

"About six hours, if she can get it," said Gabriel. "A firm mattress. Soft pillows. You wanna know about her thread count preferences?"

"I'm just _saying_ \--"

"You're always _just saying_ ," said Browning, "but you never fucking listen."

"--she'll get bored sooner or later. No offence, Urquhart, but you're not young. When the inquisitor is ready for a change--"

"She won't look at you," said Browning. "Charlie here's a special case. Until he came along, the inquisitor never fucked her own agents." 

"Never?" Gabriel asked, curious in spite of himself. 

"I've been an agent for twenty-five years. I've seen a lot of people come and go. She doesn't even take _Acheron_ crew unless they're on short-term assignments. Frankly," she pointed her fork at Gabriel, "you've lasted longer than most. Must be love." 

The doors opened and Kate entered, Captain Chambers at her side. As one, the crew, Gabriel included, rose to their feet and saluted. 

Kate, followed by security guards, marched through the room, officers moving out of her way like the sea parting for Moses. For a second, Gabriel thought she was coming for him, but she walked straight past him and came to a stop in front of the _Acheron_ 's ops officer.

"Lieutenant Commander Henley," she said, "you've been found guilty of treason against the emperor and her agencies."

All the colour had drained from Henley's face.

"Captain," he said to Chambers.

"You told the emperor that the inquisitor had Lorca himself on board," said Chambers. He looked weary. "I can't help you, Jon." 

"But _she_ ," Henley jerked his head at Kate, "gets to act with impunity. Keep secrets from her Emperor. While I'm punished for my loyalty?"

"Yes," said Chambers simply. "Inquisitor, he's yours." 

At a nod from Kate, Henley was restrained and led away by the security officers, followed by the captain and the inquisitor. The doors closed behind them. 

It was probably only in Gabriel's imagination that everyone in the mess hall exhaled at once. 

"That was unexpected," said Browning, resuming her seat and picking up her fork. "Don't take this the wrong way, Kuznetzov, but I thought you were the one who snitched about Charlie here." 

"How else am I meant to take that?" Kuznetzov asked. "You think I'm disloyal?"

His hand hovered over his knife.

"I think you're ambitious," said Browning. "And you're frustrated, because you want to do undercover work, and the inquisitor has you on back-up and enforcement. You think you're being wasted. Am I wrong?"

"I'd be a good agent," Kuznetzov muttered.

"You're young," said Browning, with more kindness than she usually showed. "It takes a long time to learn the skills, and most people don't get there. Charlie here," she nodded at Gabriel, "would be in your shoes if he didn't look so much like his cousin."

"No," said Gabriel, "if my cousin had been a loyal subject, I'd be a civilian."

"And rotting away on Tantalus V," Browning pointed out. "So _some_ good came out of Lorca's coup." She smiled. "But don't tell the inquisitor I said that." 

When Kuznetzov had left, Browning shook her head and said, "I'm so tired of babying him. I'm thinking of poisoning his food just to put us all out of our misery." She nudged Gabriel. "What are you thinking about?"

"Henley." 

"Don't waste your time. He'll spend a few weeks in an agoniser, then get beamed into space. And it's more than he deserves -- we can't let the _Acheron_ 's crew think they have any power over us."

"I know. It's just strange. I never even spoke to him, and he--"

"You thought it was personal?" Browning finished her drink. "Your ego's almost as bad as Kuznetzov's."

"She's right," said Kate, later. 

It was almost midnight, and he was lying in bed, watching Kate go through her evening routine. Hair brushed. Hands and face moisturised. Teeth cleaned. They were like an old married couple who had accidentally skipped the entire honeymoon period. 

"You thought you were being targeted in your own right?" she asked, draping her robe over the chair. 

"In my counterpart's right." 

"Poor thing." Kate climbed into bed. "No, it was more about me. Henley saw himself as a patriot. He wanted me to be the evil advisor leading the emperor astray." She curled onto her side, facing him, arms wrapped around a pillow. "Stupid boy. With Lorca out of the way, the emperor's her own worst enemy."

Gabriel put his PADD down and deactivated the lights, then turned to face her. Even here, some conversations were too dangerous to have out loud. 

"Would you depose her?" he asked, keeping his voice low. 

"Sure, if I had a viable replacement." 

"I keep wondering why you didn't take over yourself." He ran a finger down her inner wrist, lingering at the base of her palm to enjoy the rhythm of her pulse. "But you prefer being the power behind the throne, don't you." 

"I do."

"You need a puppet." 

A smile flickered across Kate's face, and despite the low light, he caught a glimpse of a dimple.

"You volunteering?" she asked.

"Shit, no." 

"I'm disappointed, Captain Lorca." She edged a fraction closer to him. "What a glorious opportunity to reform a xenophobic, militaristic society. What type of Federation officer are you?"

"One who knows better than to try to single-handedly save the universe. Anyway, you'd kill me if I put a foot out of line."

"Oh, I don't know." Kate shifted, letting her thigh brush against his. "The right cocktail of drugs, sex, alcohol, I think I could keep you distracted while I got on with the real work." 

"I've never been a hedonist." 

"I know, or else you'd have fucked Browning by now. But some minor adjustments to your brain chemistry -- barely a morning's work." She was running her thumb against the inside of his elbow. "Why haven't you slept with her? She's made her interest clear. And I've heard she's good." 

"I was," he licked his lips and tried to find words, "under the impression you wanted our arrangement to … seem monogamous." 

"That wouldn't have stopped your counterpart."

"I'm not him." His hand found its way to her waist. He could feel her hip bones through her shorts. "We don't need to keep up appearances anymore, but you haven't asked me to leave." 

"Is that what you want?" Kate asked.

"No," he admitted. "But I'm not clear on what you want." 

"What if I like the status quo?" 

He had no answer to that. Short of pushing her onto her back and fucking her until she couldn't walk, and despite her ambivalence, there were times when he was tempted. Then the urge would pass, leaving him ashamed, and afraid that this incremental breakdown of his moral code was exactly what she wanted. Then more shame, that _that_ idea would cross his mind. 

Kate gave a little huff and kissed him on the forehead, then pulled away, retreating to her own side of the bed in a cocoon of blankets. 

*

He couldn't quite lose himself in work, but he slept better if he could push himself to exhaustion during the day. That meant running five kilometres every morning and at least three of an evening, if he was free. Training with weights and weapons, sparring with anyone who wanted a go. 

Spare moments, when he had them, were spent learning the structure of Imperial intelligence archives, and brushing up his long-forgotten programming training, so that when the time came, he could introduce a virus that would destroy any files pertaining to travel between this universe and his own. He was under no illusions about his skills, but it was better than nothing. 

The inquisitor sent him on a few missions, as enforcer and back-up, not an agent in his own right. He understood why Kuznetzov found the work frustrating: it meant long hours alone, always on edge, knowing there could be no delay if his agent had to call for an urgent retrieval. 

He used the time to study and read, and to prepare, as much as he could, for whatever might come his way next. 

Despite everything -- the violence, the murders, the casual bigotry and the ever-present slaves -- it was all too easy to slip into the life of a Terran officer. To be a subordinate, not a Starfleet captain. A passive receptacle for unspeakable orders. A weapon. 

When he finally did get home, he realised one morning, it would be a long time before Starfleet considered him fit to command a starship again. 

And that might be for the best, because the second time Kate sent him to assassinate someone -- unseen, this time, not as Gabriel Lorca, traitor to the Empire, but a deadly shadow -- he didn't hesitate. 

When he returned, she accepted his verbal report with a satisfied smile, but said nothing. 

That night, in bed, she curled up with her back against his chest, pulling his arm around her waist. Her hand rested over his, and they were still for a few minutes. 

Then she pushed his hand lower.

"Kate?" he asked. 

In answer, she guided his fingers between her legs. 

He stroked her through her shorts, kissing her neck and sucking at her earlobe, occasionally getting a mouthful of hair as she moved against him. 

"Please," she whispered, and he pulled her shorts aside, sliding his fingers inside her and pressing the base of his thumb against her clitoris. 

She came with a silent, shuddering sigh, but he didn't move his hand, and she didn't push it away. He held her close, his cock throbbing against her ass, and she moved very slowly until his orgasm broke their rhythm.

"Is it a killer you want?" he asked when he had caught his breath. 

Kate rolled over to face him. 

"I know where I stand with killers," she said. 

She raised his hand to her lips, and she was still kissing his fingers when he fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Nothing changed. Kate woke up the next morning, allowed L'Rell to bathe her, and over breakfast she discussed her concerns about the alien rebels and the probability that the governor of Bolarus was underpaying the planet's imperial taxes. If they had reached some kind of milestone in their relationship, she was apparently unaware of it. 

She caught him watching her in the turbolift. 

"Don't look at me like that," she said, her voice sharp.

"Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was just an orgasm, it doesn't mean we're going steady."

"I can't believe you have that concept in this universe." 

She huffed, but smiled, and he felt some of his tension evaporate. If he could make her laugh--

The doors open and she advanced, leaving him trailing in her wake. 

Kuznetsov was becoming a problem. Increasingly open in his discontent, to the point where he mouthed off to Commander Grant and earned himself an afternoon in the agoniser. He was also removed from his next mission; worse, Gabriel was sent in his place. It was another back-up job; two days in a shuttle, alone and without sleep, reviewing his code to figure out why it wanted to delete replicator recipes instead of the alternate universe files. 

Kuznetzov didn't believe him. 

"I was assigned here by the emperor herself," he said while they sparred, "while you were rotting in a mental institution." His jab landed on Gabriel's shoulder. "You're past your prime. You have no Starfleet training. Do you know what it takes just to survive the Academy? Of course not, you were too much of a coward to sign up." 

This time, Gabriel saw his punch coming, and it only grazed his jaw. Kuznetzov wasn't holding back. Gabriel had never been much of a boxer, and it took everything he had to avoid Kuznetzov's gloved fists.

The gym was almost empty, and the few others present were carefully ignoring them. 

"I get why you do the Lorca jobs," Kuznetzov was saying. "But now you're moving in on _my_ work." 

Gabriel parried, blocked, and took advantage of an opening to attempt a right hook. Kuznetzov dodged, landing a hit on Gabriel's temple. For a second he was disoriented, and Kuznetzov pursued the advantage. 

"I promise you, Charlie," he was saying, "you might be fortune's favourite today, but I'll make my luck turn. And I won't have to fuck a dried-up old--"

Gabriel's uppercut connected with Kuznetzov's jaw. Kuznetzov went flying, landing heavily against the ropes. He spat, and there was blood in his saliva. 

"Are you done?" Gabriel asked.

Kuznetzov wiped his mouth and grinned. 

"I'm barely getting started," he said. 

Gabriel punched him again, feeling Kuznetzov's nose crack beneath his gloves. Then he gave him a black eye for good measure. 

Peeling off his boxing gloves, he grabbed his towel and water. 

"You might want to call a doctor," he told the woman on the weights trainer. "Or not." 

The inquisitor patched Gabriel up herself, though her bedside manner left something to be desired.

"Stop shaking," she snapped. "I can't heal these bruises if you won't hold still."

"I'm trying." If he clenched his teeth, it was somehow easier to control the tremble in his hands. 

"I don't know what you're so upset about. You handled it properly." 

"I broke his nose." 

"And maybe he'll think twice before he questions my judgement." She gave his hand, now unbruised, a squeeze. "Let me look at that cut over your eye." 

"If two of my officers started brawling, I'd put them both in the brig." 

"Surely Federation officers are too honourable and upstanding to _brawl_." 

He was sitting on the side of her bath while she stood over him with the dermal regenerator, close enough that he could rest his hands on her hips. 

"There've been times," he said, "back home, when the violent option felt … attractive. I had to work hard to not be that person." 

"And now you're in a place where violence is often your only option." Kate finished healing the cut and wiped the blood away with her thumb. "Don't think of it as a choice. It's a necessity." 

"I can't believe that." 

"If that's what you want to tell yourself. But you did the right thing." 

*

Kuznetzov kept out of his way after that. Gabriel was tempted to avoid the mess hall and rec room, and anywhere else they might run into each other, but he decided to maintain his routine instead. _He_ wasn't the one in the wrong. 

Every couple of weeks, Kate joined Captain Chambers for a meal in his private dining room. Chambers wouldn't permit L'Rell to enter his presence, and Kate didn't particularly like her other bodyguards, so it fell to Gabriel to stand behind her and keep an impassive face as the captain and inquisitor exchanged barbs. 

"I noticed the crew have fallen behind on the maintenance schedule," she said, sipping her wine. 

"It's difficult to keep up when I'm down a chief operations officer." Chambers waved at one of the servers. "This meat is overcooked. Tell the chef that gormagander should be _tender_ , not rubbery."

"Yes, Captain." 

"I see why you prefer simple fare onboard," said Chambers to Kate. "I'd hate to think what the chef would do to a Kelpien or a symbiont. Why do you keep this one around?"

"I like her pastries. What's wrong with the ops officers I suggested? I thought there were some promising candidates on the list."

"There were aliens on the list. And a half-breed."

"The half-breed's mother is the Governor of Vulcan. Not to mention he survived Starfleet Academy and graduated with honours." 

"And his father's run off to become a rebel. Unacceptable." Chambers drained his wine and signalled a server to refill his glass. "All due respect, Inquisitor, but I'm not eager to crew the _Acheron_ with aliens, half-breeds and your own agents. Henley was a fool, but--"

"The emperor personally authorised his execution. The _Acheron_ needs a crew who will serve the Empire, not their own egos." _Or that of their captain_ , she didn't say. "Find an ops officer, Anthony. Or I will." 

After dessert -- an almond Paris-Brest, demonstrating why Kate so valued the chef's pastry skills -- Chambers departed with a salute and a bow, leaving her to grab a spoon and eat the remaining praline cream. 

"Tell the chef I'm very pleased," she told the servers when she was done. "The meat was perfect, by the way."

"Inquisitor."

She exhaled slowly as they entered the turbolift, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

"What's your opinion of Chambers?" she asked. 

"Poor," said Gabriel. 

"Agreed. I'd say he's due for reassignment, wouldn't you? Before my chef poisons him. I can get a new captain for the _Acheron_ , but Jeanne-Marie is irreplaceable." 

The turbolift came to a stop, and Gabriel preceded her into the corridor. The ship's night cycle was well underway, creating lots of shadows for would-be assassins to lurk in. 

"I should give _you_ command of the _Acheron_ ," Kate was saying. "Save me the effort of having to break in a new captain."

"You'd need a new bodyguard, though." 

"Believe it or not, L'Rell and I did manage to get by without you." She squeezed his arm. "You'd be assassinated in a month. Wasteful."

"And we cannot have--"

A figure emerged from the shadows, and a knife flashed in the half-light. 

Instinctively, Gabriel grabbed Kate by the arm and pushed her back, moving to interpose his body between her and her attacker. 

"Computer," he shouted, "lights, one hundred and twenty percent!"

He heard Kate yelp as the lights blazed, and he himself was blinded for half a second -- but _his_ eyes adjusted in a fraction of the time it would take the Terrans. He pinpointed the attacker and jumped him while he was still pressing his palms against his eyes. 

It was Kuznetzov. Blinking and dazed, but still fighting. Gabriel had him pinned for a moment, but he managed to kick Gabriel in the inside of his knee, causing him to loosen his grip. 

Kuznetzov pulled free and retrieved his knife, fallen when the lights went up. 

"I'll enjoy killing you almost as much as her."

"You idiot," Gabriel said, drawing his own knife, "you think this'll get you a promotion? You kill the inquisitor, the emperor will have your head."

He was aware of Kate in the corner of his eye, hitting the intercom to summon security. Then Kuznetzov lunged for his chest, and though Gabriel blocked him, the knife sliced his arm open. 

The wound burned, and Gabriel lost his last fragment of compassion for Kuznetzov. He drew his phaser, his hand slick with blood, and put the muzzle to Kuznetzov's chin. 

"You're done," he said. "You failed." 

Kuznetzov spat in his face. 

"I know who you are," he said. "We shared a lot of meals, you and I. Lot of chances to grab DNA samples. You're Gabriel Lorca, and the emperor will have _both_ your heads."

_Oh, son, you shouldn't have said that._

Even as the thought ran through his mind, he was flipping Kuznetzov around, holding him in a headlock. 

He could hear running footsteps. Security. 

Kate was just watching, her phaser in one hand and her ever-present hypospray in the other. Eyes wide with shock, but also curiosity. She was waiting to see what he'd do. 

"He knows," Gabriel told her.

"You're a traitor," Kuznetzov said to her. "You want the throne for yourself? Or is he easier to control than her Majesty? You're a cancer -- you're undermining her Majesty's intelligence, keeping qualified officers away from important jobs, giving the work to your favourites -- I'll tell her -- I'll tell everyone--"

"Gabriel," said Kate quietly. 

She didn't need to give him an order. He knew what he had to do. 

He felt Kuznetzov's neck snap beneath his hands. 

The body hit the deck as the security team arrived.

Barely three minutes had passed since that first movement in the shadows. 

He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding and his wounded arm throbbing, but all his attention was on Kate as she advanced on him, stepping over Kuznetzov's body as she reached for him and pushed him against the bulkhead, kissing him fiercely. 

He slid his arms around her waist, heedless of the blood staining her uniform, and pulled her closer, losing himself in her mouth, the taste of his own sweat on her lips. 

"Mine," she whispered when they parted, her breath hot on his skin. " _Finally_." 

She turned, but stayed close, letting Gabriel wrap his arms around her from behind. The warmth of her body was soothing to his injured arm, and he exhaled into her hair. She leaned against him, and he realised that, despite her composed demeanour, she was shaking slightly. 

Commander Grant said, "Inquisitor."

"Clean this up," Kate ordered. "Where is L'Rell?"

A knot of security guards separated to let her through. 

"Inquisitor?" she said. 

"Go through Kuznetzov's things. I want every file in his library. Records of every transmission he's sent since he arrived on this ship. You, L'Rell, no one else. _Now_." 

"Yes, Inquisitor." 

"Grant."

The commander snapped to attention. "Sir."

Kate sighed. 

"Take care of it," she said. "I'm going to bed." 

She slipped out of Gabriel's arms, but took his hand as she walked away, gripping it so tightly he could feel her nails pierce the skin.

"Kate," he said.

"Not now." 

She keyed the lock on her quarters and pulled him in, and this time he was ready, meeting her lips as the door closed behind them, pushing her against it. 

Kate gave a grunt of pleasure as he kissed her, putting her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair, her nails against his scalp. 

They exchanged long, deep kisses, until their breastplates bumped and the mood broke. 

"Bed," said Kate between giggles. "I _could_ do it against the wall, but I'll pay for it tomorrow." She pulled him into their bedroom, undoing her breastplate and shedding her weapons belt as she went. "It's been years since someone tried to kill me," she said, holding out her hands for Gabriel to pull her gloves off. "I forgot how it feels. Surviving."

His breastplate and belt followed the gloves to the floor. "Some help you were, by the way," he said. 

"You were holding your own." 

He had to sit to get his boots off, and she curled herself around him, taking a moment to nibble at his earlobe.

"Enjoyed the show?" he asked.

"What I could see. Fuck you, that trick with the lights -- next time, just tell the whole Empire what you are." She leaned over to kiss him properly. "It was good. You did well." 

"Kate. Kate." He had to shift to face her properly. It was increasingly difficult to think straight, with the ache in his cock and her hands unzipping his jacket, pulling it away, but he had to know. "Have you been waiting? For me to kill for you?"

She stilled, and cupped his cheek.

"You've been killing for me for months," she said.

"Not like this." 

He held out his arm. The cut had stopped bleeding, but his hand was still encrusted with dried blood. It wasn't a subtle metaphor. 

Kate kissed him and disappeared into the bathroom, emerging with the dermal regenerator and a damp cloth. 

"I forgot," she said. 

"Me, too," he admitted. 

She cleaned the blood, and, as the cut faded, she said, "I need my lovers to be competent. Unhesitating. People who can do what needs to be done, without having a crisis afterwards. And you--" She shook her head. "Federation. Honour, morality, sanctimonious bullshit. Why do I like you?" Kate ran her fingers down his newly healed arm. She had left him with a scar, thin and white. "You're stronger than I expected. You're a survivor."

"At what cost?"

"As long as you're alive, it's worth it." She kissed him again, climbing into his lap and wrapping her legs around his waist. "Anything else -- go cry on my counterpart's shoulder when you get home, if that's what you need." 

Playing with the zipper on her collar, Gabriel said, "What I need is you."

"Mm." 

He was pulling the zip down, kissing the revealed flesh of her neck and chest. 

"When I interrogated you," said Kate, and her voice was barely more than a whisper, "you had very definite plans for my counterpart. You were going to take her to a resort on Zaconia Prime, with a balcony overlooking a private beach, and when two of the three moons were full and the waves were at their wildest, you were going to go down on her while she watched the sea." She shrugged out of her jacket, pulled her tank top over her head and unclipped her bra. "You were extremely specific about the lunar cycle, by the way." 

"They were _your_ interrogation drugs." Gabriel stroked her nipple, and the scar beside it. "Will you slap me if I kiss this?"

"Would you like me to?"

She probably felt his shiver of pleasure, but he just said, "Maybe later," and took her breast in his mouth. It felt like he was taking a shocking liberty, touching her so freely, but Kate was moaning very softly with every exhalation. 

She said, "You used -- to look at me -- why are you still wearing pants?" She unzipped his pants, then her own, and they had to separate to shed the last of their clothing. 

"How did I used to look at you?" he asked, pulling her back down on the bed on top of him. 

"Like I was a faulty copy of your friend." 

He could picture it, and he winced. "Sorry." 

She swatted him lightly. "Don't. Apologise." 

He slid his hand between her legs and found her wet. 

"Then let me make it up to you," he said, rolling her over. He kissed his way down her body, absently noting the knife scars on her belly and a jagged mark which might have come from shrapnel, and took a moment to taste her before he brought his tongue to her clit. 

Kate's hands curled in his hair, and she said something about the tides that he couldn't catch. 

He decided not to ask her to repeat herself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's the Mirror Universe, there are allusions to problems around consent and ... look, this is not a place where healthy relationships happen.

After that, his routine changed. 

Shorter morning runs, more time spent in bed. Evening runs abandoned altogether, and their post-supper reading time invariably turned into foreplay. 

"You know," said Gabriel, early one morning, tracing circles on her back, "for the leader of the secret police in a terrifying dystopia, you're unexpectedly straightforward in bed."

She rolled onto her back and stretched. "What were you expecting? Elaborate costumes? Torture?"

"Too much like work?"

It wasn't quite a joke, but she laughed.

But there were … he thought of them as cultural differences. Kate thought nothing of waking him up with a blow job if the mood took her, or of leaving marks he hadn't asked for, in places he couldn't reach with a dermal regenerator without help. Tying her to her bed one night, he asked if she had a safeword, and she looked blank for a few seconds before she said, "Put it this way: if you hurt me, I'll kill you." 

He was acutely aware that, though the sex itself was mostly simple, he had effectively wandered into an unnegotiated relationship as a submissive to a woman whose only boundaries were dictated by her whims and preferences. That they were sexually compatible was -- not quite luck, Kat was one of his formative relationships -- but it didn't change the fact that, until he escaped this universe, he belonged to Kate for as long as she wanted him.

But then. That had been the case well before they even shared a bed. 

_Because she's been grooming you for months._ The critical voice in his head sounded a lot like Commander Shev, and he wondered, not for the first time, where his first officer was in this universe. _She's the bait_ and _the trap, you idiot._

_That's Captain Idiot to you, Shev_ , he said silently, and resolved to---

To what? Tell Kate it had been nice, but he'd like to go back to his own quarters now? And if she could stop sending him out to commit acts of violence on her behalf, that would be great, too.

Not that she had done so lately. L'Rell was on another slave camp assignment, and Kate liked to keep at least one of her favoured bodyguards by her side. 

Her bath held two adults easily, which they took advantage of in L'Rell's absence. Not that Kate cared, but Gabriel wasn't so far gone as to parade himself in front of a Klingon slave. 

"Did you know," said Kate, flicking a drop of warm water at him, "there's a whole subcategory of pornography dedicated to Terrans acting as slaves? I never understood the appeal until you started helping me dress."

"Kate, if you want me to bathe you, at least have the guts to come out and ask."

She bit her lip. "Scrub my back, at least." 

"Say please."

"Fuck you."

He leaned forward to kiss her, running his hand up her leg, and though she was late for her first meeting, the slaves had cleaned up the puddles by the time they returned that evening.

It was too easy to be happy. 

Killing Kuznetzov had earned him a medal. The Red Knife, awarded for auspicious conduct in saving a senior Imperial official from assassination. Commander Grant, pinning it to his breastplate at the ceremony, said quietly, "Civilian from a bad family, I figured you'd crash and burn. Well done." Shaking his hand, she leaned in, turning her face away from the audience, and added, "If you turn on the inquisitor, your life won't be worth living. Remember that."

"I never forget it."

"Good." 

Browning returned from her mission a few days later, bearing a bottle of what she claimed was genuine slaver moonshine.

"Their food synthesisers are always breaking down," she said, knocking back a shot. "So they brew this, for … well, they said emergencies, but I didn't see them drinking anything else. Tastes like ass, but that's appropriate." She raised her glass. "To Kuznetzov." 

They were in her quarters, or, rather, the quarters she had been assigned for this rotation on the _Acheron_. Agents like Browning came and went, and were discouraged from putting down roots. Browning was sprawled in a chair, the picture of exhaustion. 

Gabriel was on the couch, nursing his moonshine, trying to come up with a way to ask after L'Rell without implying he cared about the wellbeing of a slave. She had infiltrated the same slave camp as Browning, a smaller, more remote facility than previously, and had marched into her briefing with Kate without so much as looking at Gabriel. He was no expert on Klingon body language, but he knew L'Rell, and he was pretty certain she was angry with him.

"I saw the footage, by the way," said Browning.

"Of the fight?" Gabriel asked sharply. 

"And the bit where the inquisitor jumped you." She raised her glass again, realised it was empty, and clumsily refilled it. "Meant to be locked down, but you know how it is. A girl gets curious." 

His chest tightened, but he was, he realised, breathing normally, and his hands were steady. 

"Was the audio recorded?" he asked.

"No, why? Did he give a speech?" Browning laughed. "God, what an idiot. A waste to the end."

Gabriel forced himself to grin and finished his drink. 

They spoke of nothing in particular for a while. The Earth team's chances in the Imperial Games. The latest rumours about Captain Chambers and the chief engineer, her boyfriend and their metamour. The quality of food for slave camp guards, and a bakery in Seattle that she swore made the best sourdough in the galaxy. 

"You can't synthesise it, the starter has to be made from scratch. People have killed for it." She stretched and yawned. "It's a shame we're not going back for the Emperor's Birthday. Next year, if the fates are kind." 

"Next year," said Gabriel. He got to his feet. "I'm keeping you up. I'll get going."

"I've got an extended debriefing with Grant tomorrow. I should probably sleep." She hauled herself upright and half-staggered over to retrieve his glass.

She hesitated before touching it, and when she picked it up, she held it carefully by the base. 

Her eyes met Gabriel's, and she was suddenly wide awake and sober.

"The audio _was_ recorded," she said quietly. "The inquisitor stored it separately, but she keeps _everything_. I didn't … even an idiot can be right sometimes."

Gabriel didn't breathe.

Browning said, "What will I find if I run a DNA scan?"

"I'm loyal to the inquisitor."

"Are you?"

They had abandoned their phasers at the door, but knowing Browning, she was probably carrying half a dozen concealed knives. Gabriel had one at his hip and another at his ankle. 

Her hand closed around his wrist. 

"I trust the inquisitor," she said. "I don't know how, but she's turned you into a loyal servant of the Empire. And you took out Kuznetzov, which was a public fucking service. But don't think I'm not watching you. And I'm _really_ glad I didn't fuck you. Captain Lorca." 

To his own surprise, Gabriel laughed. 

"You, Grant, the inquisitor herself -- what do you think I'm gonna do, launch another coup? The inquisitor enjoys me, but she won't cry herself to sleep if she has to get L'Rell to rip my head off." 

"You gonna report this to her?"

"What do you think?"

Browning closed her eyes. "Call her," she said. "Let's get this over with."

He kept his call cryptic, but Kate was at Browning's door within seven minutes, L'Rell looming behind her.

"Agent," said Kate, sitting neatly in Browning's chair. "Let's talk." 

Browning squared her shoulders, straightened her spine and shared everything. Her desire to see the moment Kuznetzov died, and genuine curiosity to see how Commander Urquhart conducted himself in a real fight. The realisation that Kuznetzov had said something the inquisitor found distressing. 

"I'm not a bad lip-reader," said Browning, "but the light made it difficult to see."

"And you were curious," said Kate.

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Kate nodded at L'Rell, who passed her a small device which fit neatly into her palm. Kate held it out to Browning and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

"No, Inquisitor." 

"It's a personal agoniser. A prototype. It inflicts as much pain as an agony booth, but limited to specific nerve clusters. In a couple of years, every slave will wear one." Kate's thin smile did not reach her eyes. "Put it on." 

Browning's hands shook as she attached it to her shirt. Kate stood and tapped the agoniser's control pad.

Gabriel flinched as Browning screamed and collapsed, twitching as if she was having a fit. 

Kate waited thirty seconds, then leaned down to deactivate and remove the agoniser. 

"Gabriel," she said, "will you get Agent Browning some water? L'Rell, help her up." 

Shaking and panting, Browning was hauled onto the couch. She accepted a glass of water from Gabriel's, sipped at it, and used the back of her hand to wipe the sweat dripping down her face. 

"What did you think?" Kate asked.

"Remote control would be better." Browning's voice was hoarse. "In case the subject is violent, or thrashing uncontrollably."

"I agree. It's one of the features I've requested for the next model." Kate opened the bottle of slaver moonshine, sniffed it, winced and put it down again. "If our positions were reversed, what would you do?"

"Throw you in the agoniser booth until you confessed to something. Then execute you." Browning sipped more water. "Always knew my curiosity would get the best of me."

"Waste of resources. You're one of my best agents. How old are you, Browning?"

"Forty-three."

"I'm pulling you out of the field."

"Inquisitor?"

Kate said, "I'm the first person to hold the roles of Chief Inquisitor and Master of Spies. And I'll probably be the last." She leaned back, limbs spread, taking up space. "I went two and a half years without an assassination attempt before Kuznetzov came along. I'm starting to think I might survive this job. Retire." 

Browning put her glass down. 

"Retire?" she said.

"Why not? My predecessor did." Kate tilted her head. "Not right away, of course. Let's say … hmm. Seven years to train you, and to find a new Chief Inquisitor. Give me your complete loyalty, and a quiet retirement, and I'll give you the Imperial Intelligence Service." 

Browning's eyes were wide. Scared, but also excited. 

"Thank you, Inquisitor," she whispered. 

Kate waved dismissively, standing up. "Don't thank me yet," she said. "I already have a second in command, remember? Your first job is to kill Commander Grant. Make it look like an accident, please. I don't want the rest of my people getting ideas." 

"Yes, Inquisitor." 

Kate was preparing to leave. "Take an analgesic before you sleep," she said. "You'll have a headache tomorrow." 

"Inquisitor." With an effort, Browning got to her feet. "I need to know -- what did you do to Lorca? He's like a different man."

Kate smiled, and did not answer. 

As soon as they were in her quarters, and alone, Gabriel said, "What the hell was that?"

"Prudent resource management." Kate was undoing her breastplate. "Or did you want me to kill her?"

"You've just signed Grant's death warrant."

"Not necessarily. The commander might survive."

"And when she figures out that you authorised Browning's adventure?"

Kate patted his cheek. "You're worrying about hypotheticals." She kissed him. "Come to bed."

He pulled away. "I need to shower."

Her lips thinned, and he felt her watching him as he walked away.

She was already asleep when he came out, curled up on her side of the bed with her back to him. Gabriel wondered if he had pushed her too far, but when he woke up the next morning, she was warm and amorous and eager to please. 

*

Gabriel wouldn't have said that he and L'Rell were friends, but he thought they had a rapport. That he appreciated her as a person, not a slave, and that she understood he wasn't one of her masters. 

Apparently, this was no longer the case. 

She was polite, because she had no choice, but when they were alone -- to coordinate guard rotations, prepare for upcoming events or spar -- she was silent, and avoided eye contact. 

Gabriel let it go on for five days, until in a sparring session she seemed to snap. One moment they were trading blows, the sort that would leave bruises but no other damage. The next, she was lunging for him, hands outstretched, and if he had moved too slowly, he might have lost an eye. 

As it was, her claws nicked his face, leaving two deep, bleeding scratches.

"Shit," he said, staring at the blood on his hand. "What the hell?"

L'Rell's gaze dropped from his face to her claws. She was as shocked as he was, he realised, but also pleased. As if honour had been satisfied. 

"Have I done something to piss you off?" he asked, glancing around the gym. They were alone, and for all that she seemed to have taken even herself by surprise, she must have noticed that. The realisation, combined with the pain in his cheek and the blood trickling through his beard, made him angry, and he added, "Because a Terran would have killed you for that." 

She made an inarticulate noise, almost a growl, and walked away, moving like she was in pain. Gabriel started to follow her, but stopped. A bleeding Terran chasing after an angry Klingon slave -- L'Rell would be dead within minutes if anyone saw that. 

He went to wash his face.

The gym's first-aid kit held a basic dermal regenerator, which healed the scratches until nothing but the faintest of scars remained. Those would take a few months to fade; if Kate noticed, he decided -- and she would -- he'd tell her it was a minor training injury. 

Face healed, blood washed away, he went in search of L'Rell. 

Slaves were quartered on the lower decks, near the brigs and engineering. The _Acheron_ held over fifty, crammed into small, dark quarters, four or six people jammed into a space designed for two Terrans. 

No, he remembered, this had been a Federation starship. 

Two humans.

Two humanoids.

He'd been here just once before, accompanying Kate. Then, at the inquisitor's side, he had been feared. Alone, fear was mingled with contempt. A Bajoran woman turned her head sharply to the side as he approached, her hand flying up to cover a contraband earring, but she met his eyes as he passed, and would have spat if her Cardassian friend hadn't stopped her. 

"L'Rell?" he asked a Kelpien, who gestured toward a door at the end of the corridor, but didn't speak. 

As the inquisitor's favoured slave, L'Rell had her own room, about half the size of Kate's bathroom. She was pacing back and forth, but she stopped when Gabriel appeared in the doorway, and gave a low growl.

"Are you here to arrest me?" she asked.

"Can we talk?"

She pursed her lips. "There is nothing to talk about," she said.

"I've done something to offend you." 

"All Terrans offend me." 

"I'm not a Terran."

L'Rell laughed, revealing jagged teeth. "You say that," she said. "You even believe it. But you're no different from them. I met Nessa in the camp." 

"Who?"

"No one important. Just a slave. Who was free, until _you_ killed her family."

Gabriel's breath caught in his throat. "The Orion girl," he said. 

"You _do_ remember." L'Rell's fists were clenched. "She was _free_. You destroyed her life." She bared her teeth. "You and the inquisitor." 

"And you can't be angry with her--"

 

"Don't tell me who I can't be angry at!" 

It was the first time Gabriel had heard her raise her voice, and she almost froze, eyes wide with shock, hand halfway to her mouth. 

Softly, slowly, she said, "I am angry. At. Everyone. Especially you." Her accent was becoming thick again. " _Tojjaj_. Hypocrite. Your -- Federation. Lies." 

Sick to his stomach, Gabriel sank onto her thin mattress.

"You're right," he said. "I didn't ask what would happen to her. I didn't even think about her." He stared at his hands for a moment, then forced himself to look L'Rell in the eye. "I'm sorry." 

"What are words worth?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "I'll find a way to make this right." 

"How?"

"I don't know." 

"Then what are you good for?" L'Rell sank heavily onto her bed. "I want to be alone."

Out in the corridor, he slammed his fist into a bulkhead. Slaves stilled, low conversations dying away into silence. A Kelpien raised her hand to still her threat ganglia. Gabriel stared around at them, sick with contempt.

_Rise up. Steal our weapons. Kill us. Why are you standing there? You could kill me right now!_

They were still and scared and watchful, and he hated them. He wanted to hate them. He wanted--

He forced himself to breathe until he had control of his anger. It took a long time, and no one spoke to him.


	14. Chapter 14

"Yes, that's what I thought you said." Naked but for her robe and sprawled across her bed, Kate stretched and said, "If you were anyone else, I'd be insulted. The timing alone--" She rolled onto her stomach, pushed her hair out of her face and said, "The answer to your _chaste_ and _innocent_ request for a teenage Orion slave girl of your very own is no." 

Gabriel had finished retrieving his clothes from the living area. He dropped his shirt in the hamper -- for a slave to deal with, he reminded himself -- and, pulling his pants on, said, "She's only a slave because of me." 

"No, she's a slave because her grandfather bought and sold Starfleet weapons on the black market. He could have lived out his days in relative peace, but he broke the most cardinal rule of his trade. She helped him, and she paid the price."

"She's a child." 

"Barely." She got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. "You're angry," she said, between kisses. "I like the way you fuck when you hate me a little." 

"I don't hate you." He was struggling to undo the knot on her sash and kiss her neck at the same time. 

"But you don't like me." 

"It's complicated." He gave up on the knot and put his hands beneath the fabric. "You like complicated, don't you?"

"Sometimes." Kate pulled away. "Let's eat. I'm hungry."

It had been late when they got back to her quarters, and dinner -- left in stasis dishes, by more slaves -- had been ignored in favour of sex. 

Over grilled baby octopus, she said, "I realise this is difficult for you, but if I freed every slave who deserved it--"

"One. I'm asking you to free one."

"For now." Kate sipped her wine. "Then you'll ask for two more, then three. Your Federation morality doesn't apply here. And I've told you, my duty's to the Empire. As a preserver, not a reformer." 

"You're a coward."

Kate put her glass down. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a coward. You're so afraid of what you call Federation morality, you can't bring yourself to consider the idea that the Empire has even one fatal flaw."

"Morality depends on context."

"You sound like a cadet in her first ethics class." Gabriel got to his feet. "I'm not going to debate this with you. Just ask yourself, what difference can one slave -- or even a dozen -- make to the vast Terran Empire?"

"In your hands? I dread to think. Look what you've done to L'Rell."

Gabriel had done nothing to L'Rell, or for her. But he wasn't about to betray her, or her fellow slave dissidents. He stood where he was, wondering if Kate would let him return to his own quarters. Or if she'd force him to stay. Or make him want to. 

(No, he realised, she had already achieved that. Why else was he still standing there?)

She refilled her glass and said, "What would you do with her? If I freed her?" She sounded genuinely curious. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "Take her back to my universe? Find her family there?"

"'Hello, Orion strangers, here is a relative I picked up in another universe, please give her a good home.'"

Gabriel returned to his seat. "When you put it like that…" 

"Mm."

"Adopt her? Send her to school? Let her grow up in peace and safety?"

"You destroyed her family. She'd kill you in your sleep before you got home." Kate speared a tentacle on her fork and added, "A lot of people are working to find a way back to your universe. I don't want to see their efforts wasted." 

Gabriel gave her a mirthless little huff and picked up his untouched wine glass, drained it in a few swallows, and refilled it. 

"Do you want to save her?" Kate asked suddenly. "Or do you want the credit for saving her?"

There there was a gleam in her eye, the same look that Kat got when she was contemplating a new course of action. 

"I want her to be free," he said at last. "She can hate me until she dies, as long as she dies a free woman." 

Kate nodded. 

"L'Rell isn't the only slave agent I use," she said. "Most will only accept one reward for their service. I have options, but I need to be careful how I use them."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that, if I free your Orion girl, my next slave agent might not be so lucky. Can you live with that?"

Gabriel closed his eyes. 

"Yes," he said. 

"Really." 

He poured himself more wine. "Either way, I'm complicit." He raised his glass to her. "But that's what you want." 

She plucked the glass from his hand and kissed his fingers, putting the drink down out of his reach. 

"Come to bed," she said.

He wanted to curl up alone, but Kate wrapped her arms around him, kissing his neck until he relented and, unfolding, leaned back against her. 

Running her hands through his hair, she said, "I give you choices because I know you hate feeling powerless. Is that a mistake?"

"It's an illusion." 

"I know." She kissed his temple. "It's the best I can do for now." 

God help him, he found her embrace comforting. If he turned, he could bury his face in her neck and let her hold him. 

He didn't turn, but he pulled her arms tighter around himself. 

"You free your enslaved agents," he said.

"Mm." She was pressing kisses to his temple. 

"When will you let L'Rell go?" 

He felt her grow still and tense. 

"But … L'Rell is _mine_." She sounded genuinely shocked at the idea, and he wanted to hate her for that. "She was a gift from the emperor." Kate pulled away, confusion and dismay in her face. "L'Rell's happy. Or she was." She repeated, "She's mine," 

Gabriel wanted to shake her. Shout at her. Force her to understand. 

He just said, "Think about it," and pulled the blankets up. It was after midnight, and the coming day was going to be long and demanding. Commander Grant's funeral was scheduled for 1000 hours.

*

Officially, Grant was killed in a shuttle accident. There were no other fatalities, and Captain Chambers' investigation found no evidence of sabotage. Just a chain of unforeseeable, unavoidable minor errors which culminated in a plasma coil implosion. 

If anyone questioned this story, they didn't do it within Gabriel's hearing. 

The funeral was held in Rec Room 1, the largest. Kate spoke eloquently of her second's loyalty and zeal. In the crowd, Browning looked somber. 

When it was over, and the crowd was dispersing, Kat gestured for Gabriel to join her at the window. L'Rell stood watch a short distance away. 

Keeping her eyes on the stars, Kate said, "I know you find my pragmatism disturbing." 

Gabriel watched her reflection. Her gaze was distant, and her hands, resting on the transparent aluminium, were tense. 

"You think I'm amoral," she said. 

"At best."

"Hmm." She smiled a little at that. "I have to make difficult choices. I try to make the right ones, but … we have very different ethical standards, don't we?"

"To say the least," said Gabriel, because this was neither the time nor the place to say it was news to him that she had ethical standards at all. 

"I treat my agents fairly," Kate said. "I don't torture people for fun. I don't inflict pain carelessly." 

He thought of Browning and the prototype agoniser. The months he spent on Tantalus V, enduring beatings and unbearable isolation. 

He said, "It sounds like you're trying to justify something to yourself." 

Kate looked at him. 

"If I had grown up in the Federation," she said quietly, "I guess I'd be -- well. You know who I'd be." Her lip curled. " _Kat_. Who probably never lies awake worrying because a whole empire rests in her hands, the fate of _planets_ and species and--" She stopped, looking down at her hands and forcing them to unclench. "I tell myself I'm not jealous of her. But I am. Sometimes. She has an easier life than me." 

"She does," said Gabriel. "We don't let individuals hold power, the way you do here. But Kat's commanded starships. She's saved people. Lost them. Made hard choices. So have I." He glanced around, confirming that no one was paying attention, and put his hand on the back of her arm. "What's on your mind?" he asked. 

Kate sighed. 

"Your Orion girl," she said. "I sent the orders to free her this morning. Used my personal seal, so no questions will be asked. She'll be reassigned to the processing camp on Cardassia IV. Given a bit of money. Allowed to escape." She tapped restlessly at the window. "As soon as I receive confirmation that she's gone, I'll delete her from Imperial records. She'll be a ghost." 

Gabriel ran his hand down her forearm, over her fingers. 

"Thank you," he said. 

"She'll probably go back to Freehold. Pick up where her grandfather left off. End up dead or back in the camps." She put her hand over his. "I was right, you know? The Federation's insidious. Even I'm infected. I'm almost--" 

"What?"

"Nothing." She squeezed his hand, then stepped away. Her cold mask was back in place. "Come on. I have work to do." 

*

The _Acheron_ put in at Starbase 80 for personnel rotation, and Kate took advantage of the visit to convene a meeting with her sector chiefs and introduce Browning as her new second-in-command. Gabriel, as her bodyguard, spent the morning standing at parade rest behind her, conscious of the four sector chiefs throwing curious glances his way when they thought he wasn't paying attention. 

The chiefs took Kate and Browning through their routine business: three civilians arrested for reading dissident publications; two more released with a warning following a poorly worded toast to the emperor. A college professor had been charged with sedition after sharing a banned book with a student; she had been sentenced to spend five years in a labour camp. 

Starfleet matters took up another hour, as they discussed reports from various political officers operating in the region, the loyalties of the starbase commander, the remarkably high rate of executions on the _ISS Nixon_ and the probability that her captain was conducting a purge for personal reasons. 

"Finally," said Chief O'Neill, throwing an uncomfortable look at his colleagues, "there's the matter of the rebels." 

Kate raised her eyebrows. "What about them?" she asked.

"Two rebel bases in this sector have been destroyed in the last three months."

Kate glanced at Browning, who said, "You say that like it's a bad thing." 

"Forgive me," said O'Neill. "The destruction of the bases wasn't a Starfleet operation." 

Sector Chief Olawale said, "In fact, Starfleet was unaware the bases existed." 

"The people responsible for that oversight have been disciplined," added Chief Rivas. 

"Is this a vigilante situation?" Kate asked. 

"Worse." Chief Tranh, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor, flicked a set of maps to the central holographic display. "Standard practice is to bombard a rebel base with photon torpedos from orbit, then send Imperial troops in to deal with any survivors. The rebels on these bases were--" He hesitated, then pulled up images of a slaughter. Blood spattered walls, a severed hand rested on the wreckage of a console. 

Gabriel shifted, and even Kate seemed perturbed. He thought he was immured to the violence here, but this was gratuitous. Maybe personal.

Someone -- several someones -- had been having fun.

"I can only call it a massacre," said Tranh. 

"We've found evidence of similar executions throughout the quadrant," said Olawale. "We thought perhaps a starship captain was being creative."

"Well, we weren't wrong," said Rivas. "I mean…" 

"Fourteen hours ago," said O'Neill, "a rebel cell on Cardassia Four was similarly eradicated. This time, the people responsible left a message on a data chip." 

He called up a video. A middle-aged Vulcan woman stared out at them, her face swollen and bruised. 

Clearly reading from a script, she said, "'This is a message to the Terran Empire and the alien rebels who seek its destruction. Emperor Georgiou has no interest in protecting Terran borders, or advancing the Terran destiny. She permits rebels to flourish and aliens to live freely among us. She is a coward, and must be destroyed.'" 

She glanced at someone off-camera. 

"Keep going," said a male person they couldn't see. 

The woman drew breath, squared her shoulders, and continued. 

"'One man had the courage and vision to stand up in the face of the emperor's weakness. He gave his life for our cause, but his destiny has passed to us. We will defeat the Empire's enemies, beginning with the alien rebels and ending with Inquisitor Cornwell and Emperor Georgiou. In Lorca's name. Long live the Empire.'" 

A phaser bolt came from behind her, and she dissolved. A figure advanced from the shadows. Male, human. Dark hair streaked with grey, a cherubic face at odds with both the deep lines around his mouth and the fanatical gleam in his eyes.

Gabriel knew him. Matt Decker of the _USS Constellation_. Old friend. Sometime lover. 

_Shit. Kate's gonna send me to kill him. And he probably deserves it._

"We've hidden long enough," said Matt. "Gabriel Lorca's dead. Anything else you may have heard is Imperial propaganda. It falls to us to complete his mission. No quarter shall be given. No mercy shown. Tell Cornwell. Tell Georgiou. We're coming for you." 

The message ended.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific content note for mild dubcon in the form of unnegotiated sleep sex.

Kate leaned back in her chair, hands steepled, her mouth thin and furious. 

"You wasted my time talking about banned books and drunken toasts, while this _treason_ was in your hands." Kate's voice was flat and hard. "Just as you've apparently had Matt Decker running around for months, and didn't even realise."

O'Neill said, "Inquisitor, we didn't know--"

"You're Imperial Intelligence!" Kate was not quite shouting, but her voice was raised, and Gabriel had never seen her so openly furious. "It's your job to know!" She pressed her hands flat on the table, making a visible effort to get her temper under control. 

In something closer to her usual even tone, she said, "Who else has seen this?"

"Agents Welling and Lesalle," said Olawale.

"They're reassigned to the _Acheron_ as of five minutes ago."

Browning made a note. 

"As for you four," Kate looked around at them, "get out of my sight and pray the emperor doesn't have you all flayed for your mistakes." 

The section chiefs fled. 

When she was alone but for Gabriel and Browning, Kate put her head in her hands. Just for a moment. 

Then she straightened up and turned to Browning. 

"Get every piece of data on these attacks," she said, "and give it all to an analyst. Haughen or Bekele, or someone else you trust."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"After that, I want every report from the _Constellation_ 's political officers up to Decker's defection, and everything we have on his possible whereabouts now."

"Will there be anything else, Inquisitor?" Browning asked.

"Not just yet." Kate stood up, massaging her lower back. "I need to report this to the emperor." She gave Browning a thin smile. "You might get my job ahead of schedule." 

"I hope not, Inquisitor." A flicker of a smile crossed Browning's face. "I haven't even begun to think about how I'll decorate your office." 

Back on the _Acheron_ , on their way to Kate's office, she said, "Do you know Decker in your universe?"

"He's a good captain," said Gabriel. "One of the best. We're friends."

"Close?"

"As much as two starship captains can be. We sleep together, sometimes. When we can." 

"Hmm." 

"You want me to kill him for you." 

"Maybe. I haven't decided." She palmed the lock on her office. "Probably." 

"Good," he said.

Inside, she took a long, slow breath, then hit her comm pane and requested a secure channel to the emperor.

Georgiou took the news better than expected, which was to say, she didn't order summary executions for the four sector chiefs, or demand Kate's head. It helped that Kate's report implied that she had been aware of and dealing with this matter for some time, and the revelation about Decker's involvement only confirmed her worst suspicions.

The emperor stood in thoughtful silence when Kate finished, her head slightly tilted, her eyes far away. 

At last, she said, "Do you believe Michael is part of this?"

There was hope in her eyes. She was a monster and a tyrant, and she wanted her lost daughter back. 

"No, your Majesty," said Kate. "Captains Burnham and Decker had Lorca in common, but nothing else. It's not impossible, of course--"

 _Said the woman who had killed Captain Burnham herself_ , Gabriel thought.

"--but I'd consider it unlikely."

"If you find her," said Georgiou, "bring her in alive. If any harm comes to my daughter, I'll see the same happens to everyone you care about." She looked at Gabriel for the first time and smiled. "Nothing personal, Commander Urquhart."

"Understood. Your Majesty."

"So I hear," said the emperor. To Kate, she said, "As for Decker -- bring him in alive, if you can. If you can't, well. Try to make him suffer."

"I understand, your Majesty." 

"Long live the Empire," said Georgiou.

"Long live the Empire," Kate and Gabriel repeated, and the connection was closed. 

When the silence had stretched thin between them, Gabriel said, "We can create evidence that Burnham was involved."

"Easily," said Kate. "It's just a question of how long can I keep this up before she realises I'm lying." 

"Look on the bright side," said Gabriel, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Maybe Matt will depose her before she finds out." 

*

Kate gave him access to all of Decker's logs and his political officer's reports, and Gabriel was settling in for an afternoon of uncomfortable reading when his comm chimed and he was summoned back to her office. 

He arrived to find her studying a box the size of her palm. 

"Is it ticking?" he asked.

"It's from Professor Mukerjea," said Kate. "She leads the team working to get you home. I thought you'd want to see."

"Good news or bad?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted, taking his hand. "Let's find out." 

The box produced a small holographic projection, the head and shoulders of a human woman in her fifties. 

"Inquisitor Cornwell," she said, "I am very happy to report that my team has made a significant breakthrough. At 1100 hours on stardate 1257.1, we opened a stable gateway into the other universe. It held for one hundred and forty-nine minutes." 

Gabriel realised he was gripping Kate's hand with so much force his knuckles were white. 

"Sorry," he muttered, releasing it. She gave him a puzzled look. 

The recording continued, "Dr Hooper was able to send a drone through to the other side. It brought back several geological samples for study. I've sent one along with this message." 

The box opened, and Kate reached slowly inside. She withdrew a piece of raw metal, bright silver, cut into a perfect cylinder shape, a centimetre long and no wider than her pinky fingernail. 

"What you are seeing," said Professor Mukerjea, "is raw platinum taken from an asteroid in the other universe's Freehold Sector. A scan of its quantum signature will confirm its origins. Dr Hooper has several suggestions for the exploitation of the other side's resources--"

"He can forget about that," Kate muttered.

"--but I've reiterated your orders that this will not be an ongoing concern."

"Good."

"We are about to begin testing with organic subjects and larger vessels. I estimate that we will be able to send a ship bearing Terrans across within a month." Mukerjea saluted. "Thank you again for the opportunity to lead this project, Inquisitor. Long live the emperor."

The hologram winked out. 

Kate rolled the platinum sample between her fingers, then passed it to Gabriel. It was cold and surprisingly heavy. 

"A little piece of home," she said. "You'll be back there, soon." 

She sounded resigned. 

He traced the veins on the back of her hand, then picked it up and kissed it.

"I'll miss you, too," he said. 

*

Kate seemed to put her melancholy aside for a few hours while she scoured reports with Browning and studied the raw data on the attacks. But she pulled Gabriel into bed as soon as work was done for the day, and sank her teeth into his shoulder as he brought her to orgasm. 

They ate without speaking, and went back to bed, clinging to each other. Kate fell asleep quickly, but Gabriel remained awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to her breathe. 

He had been in denial, he realised. Going home meant leaving Kate behind, and that … was a difficult truth to face. 

And she seemed to think he would turn up on Kat's doorstep and pick up with her where he had left off with Kate. As if they were interchangeable. 

As if he didn't love Kate. 

_Love_? He pictured Shev, the skeptical twitch of her antenna. _I'm sorry, Captain, the woman is a torturer and a slave-owner, and you've decided you_ love _her_?

Kat would raise her eyebrows and say, gently and without judgement, _Gabriel, you were her prisoner for a year and a half. You couldn't consent to this relationship in any meaningful way. That you've developed feelings for her -- I'm sorry, but that was an act of self-defence._

Kate mumbled something in her sleep and rolled onto her side. Gabriel's shoulder ached where she had bitten it. She hadn't broken the skin, but there would be a bruise. 

He wondered what would happen if he persuaded Kate to come with him. Imagined introducing her to his mothers. And to think they had disliked _Kat_.

And Kat, an only child, coming face to face with her evil twin.

There'd be a price to pay for keeping Kate. His career, for one, or whatever was left of it. A lot of friendships. 

But of all the Terrans he had met, she seemed the least attached to the material trappings of the Empire. She rarely ate sentients. She could cope without a personal slave, when she had to. 

_Listen to yourself_ , said Shev. 

And somewhere, back home, was his counterpart. Gabriel could think of any number of things he'd like to do that asshole, but imagining him coming face to face with Kate in the Federation was one of his better fantasies. They could take him down together, Kate with her hypospray and Gabriel with his knives, and the last thing the other Lorca would see before he died was the two of them--

He realised he was hard again, and he rolled onto his side to wrap himself around Kate, kissing her jaw and playing with her nipples until she was half awake, then moving a hand between her legs and stroking her until she was wet. Then he pulled her underwear aside and slid into her, holding her close until he came. 

"You okay?" she asked when he was done. She turned to face him, tracing his lips with her thumb.

"I meant it," he said. "I'll miss you."

"We've still got some time," said Kate. "And don't think I'm letting you leave this universe while Matt Decker's still free."

*

Gabriel was busy after that. Kate wanted his suggestions for handling Decker, so he spent long hours going through dossiers and evaluations. 

At the same time, he was preparing to go home. His personal possessions here were limited to his rank insignia and medal, physical proof for Starfleet that he hadn't just gone AWOL. More valuable were the boxes they came in: small, black, nondescript, and the perfect size to smuggle a few data chips full of Imperial intelligence. He installed false bottoms and started copying information whenever he could: the original reports Kate had given him when he arrived on the _Acheron_ ; the Kodos and Decker files; and anything else he could get his hands on. Troop movements. Starship assignments. Histories and a few novels. 

He should have kept a log, he realised -- but no, that would have been impossible to hide from Kate. The virus he had written was dangerous enough, concealed in the ship's computer disguised as a cleaning subroutine for the food synthesisers and a recipe for fortune cookies. 

His nights -- and mornings -- and one afternoon in her office -- were spent with Kate. He was trying to memorise her scars and the taste of her skin. 

In bed, wearing nothing but his shirt, with her head on his hip, she said suddenly, "I've never lied to you. But I haven't alway given you the whole truth, either."

"I always figured as much." He ran his hand through her hair. "Something you want to get off your chest?"

She moved up to kiss him, and said, "Your slave girl. The Orion."

"Nessa." He felt a chill. "She's dead?"

"No," said Kate, "she's alive and well, and she's gone off to join the rebels."

 _Good for her_ , Gabriel thought. 

"If anyone finds out I had a hand in that, I'll -- well, I'll lose my post, if not my head." Kate looked down at him. "However much I disappoint you, being who and what I am -- I did that. For you. I hope it makes up for … other things." 

He kissed her, and he didn't ask what her lie of omission was, because he didn't want to know. 

But he did tell L'Rell about Nessa's new freedom. She received the news with a solemn nod. 

"I know she's just one slave," said Gabriel.

"But she was your responsibility. A true Klingon would say you've restored your honour."

"L'Rell." He struggled to find words that wouldn't insult her. "Regardless of your circumstances, you're one of the most honourable people I've ever met. In any universe." 

"I'm a slave. Nothing more." 

"Do you still believe that?"

L'Rell said quietly, "The inquisitor will never free me. But my position here gives me … access." She put her clawed hand on Gabriel's arm. "I tell myself there's nothing I can do for the Empire's victims. The truth is, I just fear the consequences. I'm not a Klingon, I'm a slave and a coward."

"L'Rell--"

"The worst of it," she said, "is that I'm not afraid for myself alone. But for the inquisitor. I don't want her to be hurt." She looked down. "T'Kuvma would have said that I'm delusional -- that all Terrans deserve death--"

"You don't have to justify yourself to me." Gabriel put his hand over L'Rell's. "She gets in our heads, I know."

"It's been too long since I had a choice to make."

"You'll make a good one," he promised.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains consensual violence which -- well, I found it difficult to write, so I thought I should give a heads up.

Imperial Intelligence put Decker on the planet T-1047, once a Bajoran colony called Prophet's Landing. Eight years earlier, Gabriel Lorca of the _ISS Buran_ had bombarded it with torpedoes until the surface was levelled and the atmosphere burned away. A billion Bajorans lost their lives, and those who escaped the planet were captured and enslaved. 

Then Lorca took the _Buran_ to Bajor and sat in orbit, transmitting footage of the destruction of Prophet's Landing until the government offered an unconditional surrender. 

Now T-1047 was a lifeless husk orbited by two automated terraforming stations. In a couple of generations it would support human life, but the project wasn't urgent. The Empire had more territory than it could fill, and T-1047 was almost forgotten. 

Except by Matt Decker. What better base for his insurgency than the site of one of Lorca's greatest victories? Let the emperor grow soft amidst the luxuries of the _Charon_. He was a soldier, and he would endure any hardship to complete Lorca's work and restore the Empire to glory.

Or so Gabriel surmised. The Matt Decker he knew was loyal to a fault, dedicated to his crew and his friends and the ideals of the Federation. But this universe took people's finest qualities and made them toxic. Katrina Cornwell's practicality became ruthless pragmatism; Philippa Georgiou's curiosity turned into possessiveness. Matt Decker's loyalty transformed into fanaticism. 

And Gabriel Lorca's ambition mutated into a hunger for power. 

At least, he told himself, his experiences here and at home had given him the tools he needed to take Decker down and provide something like justice for the rebels Matt had murdered. 

He just didn't think Kate would like his plan. 

"You want to take command of the _Acheron_ ," she said.

"Temporarily."

Kate looked faintly amused. Browning was scowling, and Gabriel suspected she was just waiting for the signal to leap across the table and put her knife to his throat. 

"Decker's heard the rumour that you have a Lorca decoy," said Gabriel. "A DNA scan will prove my identity, but then he'll want to know what I've been doing on the _Acheron_ all this time." 

"And you'll say?" Browning asked.

He shrugged. "Taking over. Winning the inquisitor's trust, waiting for the right moment -- then sticking my knife in her back." He grinned. "Metaphorically." 

"Sure, right up 'til the moment you kill the inquisitor for real."

"He won't kill me, Commander Browning," said Kate.

"You seem very certain of that, Inquisitor."

Kate just smiled. 

"So you're in command of the _Acheron_ ," she said, "and I'm your -- prisoner?"

"Guest."

"Say 'victim'. Captain Lorca never treated his captives well, and I've told you how much we despised each other. What happens next?"

He told her.

She laughed.

*

Kate wasn't laughing when, two days later, she attached the personal agoniser to her tank top and activated it. 

Her screams filled the air, and Gabriel had to force himself to hold still, to stand and watch while Kate collapsed, writhing to escape the relentless pain.

_This bit was her idea. She of all people knew what she was letting herself in for._

It didn't make him feel any better. 

Browning, hands behind her back, watched the show with a hint of a smile on her lips. L'Rell stared out the window, her face unreadable. 

Five minutes, Kate had ordered. Gabriel counted the seconds. 

At four minutes, fifty seconds, he dropped to his knees and deactivated the agoniser. Kate went limp, and she lay still on the floor, breathing heavily. Her nose was bleeding a little, Gabriel noticed. She had hit it as she fell. He took her hand and squeezed it.

"Step back," said Browning. 

"This isn't necessary," he said. 

"Gabriel." Kate's voice was hoarse. "He'll want. To see me. In person. Can't fake everything. They. Have scanners." She released his hand. "If you won't. Help. Get out of the way."

He retreated, and Browning moved in, aiming a swift kick at Kate's midsection. Then her ribs, then her jaw. It was neat, efficient work. Browning clearly had practice inflicting pain without causing major injuries. 

Kate endured the blows in near-silence. 

When Browning was done, she helped Kate get to her feet. 

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Bruised." Kate rubbed her jaw, which was already swollen. "But nothing broken. Nice work." 

"It's missing something," said Browning.

"Computer. Mirror." Kate studied her holographic reflection. She was still shaking slightly, and -- maybe unconsciously -- holding her ribs. 

"I could break your nose," Browning offered.

"Too many potential complications. I might need to fight." Kate turned to Gabriel. "Give me a black eye." 

"You've got to be kidding," he said.

 

"Captain Lorca wouldn't hesitate." She moved closer to him. "A black eye is the very least of what I'd suffer as his prisoner. And this is _your_ plan."

"Not this. You were meant to stay on the _Acheron_."

"I know Decker. He'll want to see me, and he'll want to scan me." She rested her hand on his chest, kissing him lightly. "Come on. I can take a punch. Tell yourself it's revenge. You deserve it." 

Gabriel pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. _Seven and a half months on Tantalus V. Sending me to kill for her._ He put his hand on the back of her head and kissed her, tasting blood. _This is just the latest violation, and the only difference is that she's the one who'll be bleeding._

His fist connected with her eye socket and she would have gone flying, but he held her in place and hit her again, punching her in the mouth. 

Kate stared at him, shocked, then raised her hands to her bleeding lip.

"Well done," she said. "You can let go of me now." 

He was still holding her by the neck. He let his hands drop and she smiled. 

"L'Rell will help me with the rest," she said, summoning her with a flick of the fingers and retreating into the bedroom. 

Gabriel watched them go. He could taste bile at the back of his throat, and when he finally unclenched his fists, he realised his nails had cut into the palms of his hands. 

"You look like you need a drink," said Browning.

"I need a clear head." 

"Suit yourself." Browning unbuckled her breastplate. "Give me a hand."

When he launched his coup, Lorca and his followers had abandoned the standard breastplate for one with a different design, black with gold detailing instead of the other way around. Made it easier to know who to shoot. Gabriel hadn't needed to wear it, until now. 

He helped Browning into hers, and accepted her assistance with his. 

She was watching him closely as she sealed his new breastplate. "Why does the inquisitor tell you about Captain Lorca like you don't know him?"

He forced a grin and said, "You can't seriously expect me to answer that." 

"Yeah, I do." Browning's jaw was set. "Your strategic assessment of Decker? It sounded like you were describing a guy you knew mostly from dossiers. He's meant to be your old friend and fuckbuddy -- you shouldn't need the Inquisitor to tell you he'd want to see her face to face." Her look was searching. "What is it, memory loss? A side effect of whatever the inquisitor did to you?" She nodded at the closed bedroom door. "She's putting her life in your hands."

"On the bright side," said Gabriel, "if I betray her, you get her job." 

"Too soon. I'd never hold it. But maybe that's what you want." 

Without thinking, Gabriel said, "It's amazing to me that you people ever stopped being paranoid long enough to achieve warp drive."

Browning raised her eyebrows. "See," she said, "here's the thing. Genetically, you're Lorca. And you act like you've had some training, even held command. But sometimes you talk like you really are a civilian the inquisitor pulled out of nowhere."

"Weren't you the one lecturing Kuznetzov about not asking too many questions?"

"Sure. Now he's dead, and our lives depend on your loyalty to the inquisitor and your ability to bluff. It's not an ideal fucking situation, _Commander Urquhart_."

"Enough." 

The inquisitor stood in her doorway, hands on her hips. She looked like hell, with far more bruises -- several looked days or weeks old -- on her face than Browning or Gabriel had inflicted. She had abandoned her breastplate and the rest of the trappings of rank, and her red jacket was half-open, revealing old bruises on her collarbone and hypospray marks on her neck. One of her hands was missing three fingernails. 

She caught him looking and smiled, then winced as her split lip started bleeding again.

"L'Rell does good work," she said. 

Gabriel said, "Looks painful."

"It's meant to. And then there's the stuff we injected to make my brain chemistry look wrong." She started to rub her temples, then stopped, giving him a crooked smile. "Don't worry, L'Rell's pumped me full of analgesic. As soon as it kicks in, I'll be able to sleep through an agoniser session." 

"Try not to snore too loudly," said Browning. "Inquisitor, I have--"

"Enough." Kate held up one bruised, bleeding hand. "Trust me, if you can't trust him. I know what I'm doing." 

"Yes, Inquisitor." 

She examined their appearances. 

"You look like traitors to the Empire," she said. "As it should be. Let's go."

"Showtime," said Browning.

*

It felt good to be back in the captain's chair. Even with Captain Chambers' threats ringing in his ears. Even surrounded by a crew who were barely more than pirates, untrusting and untrustworthy. 

"Coming up on T-1047 -- Captain," said Lieutenant Commander Srisati. 

"Lifesigns?"

"No change. Captain," said Lieutenant Bhati at Ops. "The surface is dead." She frowned at her display. "The subterranean energy fluctuations our stealth probe picked up, though -- they're stronger. It's shielded, but there's definitely a settlement down there." 

"Could be rebels," said Commander Olson at tactical. 

"Could be," said Gabriel. "Probably isn't." He double-checked the readings again. "Well, we're not here to hide. Disengage the cloak and open hailing frequencies. Wideband. Get their attention." 

"Aye, Captain. Hailing frequencies open."

The communications officer, he noted, didn't hesitate to address him as captain. That, too, felt good.

"Response incoming, sir," he said. "Just cleaning it up." 

The communications hologram materialised, flickered, and came into focus, resolving into a familiar form.

"Matt," said Gabriel, his voice warm. There was a note his counterpart struck when he was trying to be charming -- God, he hoped he'd never used that tone in his own life. But mimicking it felt like putting on the final piece of a costume. "It's good to--"

"Does the inquisitor think I'm gonna fall for her decoy?" Decker asked. "Gabriel Lorca's dead. You're a cousin, or something."

"That's what we told the emperor. She didn't even bother to run a DNA scan." 

"'We'," Decker echoed. "You're Cornwell's puppet."

Gabriel laughed. "She thought so. Pulled me off the _Buran_ , locked me up in one of her facilities for half a year. Pumped me full of drugs, left me in the agoniser -- and after all that, she thought I'd be her loyal servant." 

Matt wanted to believe it. Even through the hologram, with its distortions and flashes of static, Gabriel could see that Matt's common sense was warring with the dawning hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all true. 

"From what I hear," said Matt, "you've been running her errands like a good boy." 

"I needed her to trust me. Needed to gain allies. You think they'd just let me take command?" He waved his hand at the _Acheron_ 's bridge crew, dressed in a mixture of standard uniforms and Lorca's variant. 

"And Cornwell?" Decker asked. "Is she dead?"

Gabriel laughed. "She's more valuable alive." He tapped the _comms_ button on his personal console. "Bring her in." 

On cue, Browning emerged from the ready room, pushing Kate ahead of her. Shoulders slumped, hair lank. They had decided to leave her hands free, to show how completely defeated she was. But she peered through a layer of hair, her eyes following Gabriel like a flower following the sun. 

He sometimes caught himself watching her the same way. 

Browning shoved her to her knees in front of the captain's chair, and she knelt at Gabriel's feet, one arm wrapped around her bruised ribs. 

Decker said, "What did you do to her?" 

"Nothing she didn't do to me." Gabriel made a show of playing with Kate's hair. "Albeit my techniques were cruder. We were on an accelerated schedule. And I had to purge most of the Imperial interrogators. You know how it is." 

Hesitantly, as if she was unsure whether he'd strike her, Kate lay her head on his knee. 

"And Philippa?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Sweet Katrina knows all the right things to say. I've had complete control of Imperial Intelligence for a month, now, and Pippa has no idea." He patted Kate on the head and then pushed her out of his way, getting to his feet and advancing towards Matt's hologram.

"Enough chat," he said. "I want to see you. Properly." 

Decker was hesitating.

"You can run all the tests on me you want," Gabriel added. 

"Fine. But you come down here." Matt tapped at a console Gabriel couldn't see. "I'm transmitting my coordinates and the shield override."

His personal console flashed. "Got 'em."

"Bring the inquisitor. I want to get a look at her, too. You can have one guard." 

And to think he had thought Kate was being paranoid. 

He said, "Not exactly the warmest of welcomes, Matt." 

"I know, it's almost as if I don't trust you." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Decker out."

The hologram vanished, and Gabriel exhaled slowly. 

"That could have gone better," he said. 

"I told you," said Kate, climbing to her feet. "Stick with the plan."

"Only one guard, though," said Browning.

"We'll manage." Kate swept into the turbolift, and Gabriel and Browning followed in her wake. 

"Are you okay?" he asked as the turbolift descended. 

"Fine." She tucked her bad hand under her arm. "It's ridiculous, I can barely feel anything -- except my fingernails. It's like the nail beds are on fire." 

"Something to keep in mind for future interrogations?" Browning asked.

"Mm. So much technology at our disposal, it's easy to overlook the little things." Kate nudged Gabriel with her elbow. "How you doing?"

"Fine," he said. 

He was keyed up, but that was normal. Wishing, again, that Kate had more intelligence on his counterpart's relationship with Decker. Fooling an acquaintance was easy, but a lover? 

Once again, he was walking into a situation with incomplete information. And this time he wasn't alone. He was acutely aware of Kate's vulnerability: injured, unarmed, about to be subjected to God knew what. 

And if she died, that was it for him. No way home. Probably not a quick death, either. 

"Can you see properly?" Browning asked Kate. 

"More or less." 

"That's not reassuring, Inquisitor." 

Kate smiled. "Relax, Commander, I'm not going anywhere." 

"Glad to hear it." 

A squad of security guards met them outside transporter room three, snapping to attention and saluting as the inquisitor and her party approached. 

"Wait for the signal," she ordered the squad leader. "Don't move without it. And when it comes, don't hesitate."

"Yes, Inquisitor." 

They stepped up onto the transporter pad, Kate adjusting her posture until she was slumped, broken and in pain. 

Gabriel said, "Energise."


	17. Chapter 17

Decker's base was deep underground. The surface radiation and kelbonite deposits in the planet's crust made it difficult, if not quite impossible, to get accurate sensor readings or transporter locks, and the shields did the rest. 

Embedded in Gabriel and Browning's breastplates were miniaturised pattern enhancers. When the shields were dropped, _Acheron_ would be able to lock onto their signals and use the trace to beam the squad down. 

Exactly how they were going to get the shields down was yet to be determined. 

"Improvisation," Browning had said cheerfully. "It's part of the job." 

This was unreassuring. 

Gabriel had pictured Decker hiding out in a damp cave, but the base turned out to be a vast chamber, easily the size of a couple of football fields, with interlocking ovals carved into the walls, alternating with oversized statues. It was ancient, and beautiful, despite the armed guards, the scorch marks that marred the statues, and the screams which echoed from another chamber.

Matt Decker sat on a small altar, his feet resting on a standard-issue camp stool. He wore civilian clothes, as did some of his followers; others wore a mixture of Starfleet uniforms and Lorca's variant. In short order, they had Gabriel and Browning disarmed and communicators confiscated, and Gabriel was marched over to Decker.

Decker looked Gabriel up and down, and said, "Get the doctor. Or his tricorder, if he's drunk again." 

"Quite a welcome," said Gabriel mildly. His counterpart might have disdained the company of Owosekun and her security officers, but among his followers, he had been collegial. A comrade, a soldier, a common man touched by destiny. So he was playing it cool. Detached, amused, patient. 

"Get your hands off me, you assholes, I'm awake." 

A skinny man in stained medical reds staggered towards him, waving away assistance. It took Gabriel a moment to recognise Phil Boyce. He looked at least twenty years older than his Federation counterpart, with bloodshot eyes and broken capillaries in his nose and cheeks. He smelled strongly of spirits, and his hands shook as he activated his medical tricorder.

"Yep," he said at last. "DNA match confirmed. That's Gabriel fucking Lorca." He sketched a sloppy salute. "Cap'n." 

"Doc."

Decker relaxed, just a little, but he nodded at Kate and said, "Now her." 

Boyce swayed as he scanned Kate, and studied his tricorder for a long time. Long enough that Gabriel wondered if he should strike first, before they shot him -- but then the doctor said, "Various injuries. Nothing life threatening." He jabbed Kate in her bruised ribs and, as she yelped, said, "Painful, though. Brain chemistry's off." He grabbed Kate's jaw and peered into her eyes. "She's had a nice cocktail of -- well, I wouldn't say no. You know where you are, sweetheart?"

Kate gave him a dull look and said, slowly, "Where I'm meant to be." 

Boyce laughed. "Sure, why not? I need a drink."

Gabriel turned to Decker.

"There," he said. "We good?"

"More or less." 

In one movement, Decker jumped down from the altar, advanced on Gabriel and kissed him hard, hands on either side of his head, fingers in his hair. Exactly like _his_ Matt, greeting him after a long separation, and he was homesick all over again. 

Then Decker broke the kiss, took a step back and punched him. 

Reeling, Gabriel took a step back, rubbing his jaw, and said, "What the fuck, Matt?"

"That's for letting the whole damn universe think you were dead." 

"I didn't exactly have a choice." 

"That's why I didn't break your jaw." Decker turned to his people. "Return their weapons," he ordered, "and give us some space." 

"Not a lot of privacy," said Gabriel as Decker led him over to a wall where, beneath the carvings and towering statues, a low table and some couches had been set up. Browning followed, leading Kate and keeping pace with Decker's own bodyguard.

"We make do." Decker sat down. "Drink? Nothing Terran on hand, but we got some passable ale from the last rebels we hit." 

"Water's fine." 

Gabriel sat, taking the chair at right angles to Decker's so their knees touched. Kate drifted over to sit at his feet. Browning took position a couple of metres away, close enough to defend him from attack, far enough that he and Decker could speak privately. 

Decker glanced at Kate. "Must have done a hell of a job on her." 

"The last round might have been too much. She's usually more lucid." 

"Why not kill her?"

Gabriel sipped his water. "Michael." 

"Michael's dead." Decker raised his eyebrows. "Or … is she?"

"She was selling weapons on Freehold Base as recently as March." 

"Shit. The shuttle explosion--"

"She faked it. Or she survived somehow." The lie came easily. "Either way, I'd like a word with my best beloved." 

"You think she betrayed you? And the cause?"

"Put it this way -- she hasn't exactly come looking for _me_." He pulled Kate's hair. "I have the inquisitor's resources. Michael can't hide forever." 

"Just promise me one thing," said Decker. "When you're ready to kill Cornwell, I want to be there. I'd still have command of the _Constellation_ if her political officers hadn't turned my own crew against me. She had my chief engineer arrested on suspicion of treason. _Suspicion_." He got to his feet and put his boot on Kate's injured hand. "Georgiou's just complacent, but Cornwell -- Cornwell's the cancer eating away at the Empire." He shifted, putting his full weight on her hand. Kate bit her lip, but made no sound. 

Gabriel thought, _This is how you treat a brutalised prisoner. You aren't even fit to lick my Matt's boots._ And another injury was the last thing Kate needed.

He gave Decker an easy smile and said, "You can execute her yourself, when the time comes." 

"I look forward to it." Decker released Kate and returned to his seat. "Can't say I care for the beard, though." 

"Really? I think it makes me look dashing. Piratical."

"Old." 

Gabriel laughed and changed the subject, saying, "You've got a good operation here. Though your attacks on the rebels are a bit flashy." 

"Getting attention was the point."

"Tell me how you got this place set up."

Decker told him of his escape from the _Constellation_ with a handful of loyal crewmembers, only to be captured by rebels. When he reached the part about escaping and taking control of his ship, he got up and started to pace. 

Kate curled her good hand around Gabriel's booted ankle. 

"By the time we hit the third base, we realised the rebels had heard of us, even if the Empire took no notice. We came out of darkness -- the stuff of alien nightmares--"

Gabriel moved, shielding Kate as she slid the miniature pattern enhancer from his boot. It was tiny, smaller than the palm of Gabriel's hand, but the polymer would look to a tricorder like a component of his boot. Kate, wearing soft prison slippers, had no such camouflage.

It disappeared up Kate's sleeve while Matt recounted the thinking behind his message for the emperor. 

"We were done being ignored. Some people wanted to strike at her now, with the element of surprise, but I want Pippa scared. I figured Imperial Intelligence would get the message, and pass it on." He grabbed Gabriel's hand and pulled him to his feet, drawing him in for a kiss. "I didn't imagine for a second that you were alive to see it. I was going to have the inquisitor's fake Lorca publicly executed." 

"I'm touched," Gabriel murmured, his hands moving to the small of Decker's back. His stubble was rough under his lips, and he tasted like Gabriel's old friend, but Gabriel was all too conscious of the differences: a thick scar on Decker's forearm, a knife in his belt. 

Kate's orders were to maintain the pretence for as long as it took to get access to the shield generators, whether that was minutes or days.

_And if I sleep with him while he thinks I'm the other Lorca, what does that make me?_

He didn't need to ask. 

Gabriel rested his hands on Decker's hips and said, "Now I'm back from the dead, I'm gonna need a planetary base."

"Say, a hidden alien temple?" Decker grinned. "Here's one I prepared earlier. Want a tour?"

"Please." 

"Edwards!" Decker summoned one of his supporters. "While I'm showing Captain Lorca around, why don't you put the inquisitor in an agoniser booth?" He turned back to Gabriel. "You don't mind, do you? I'm still pissed off about my chief engineer." 

"Just keep the setting low. I still need her alive." 

Kate raised her head to give Gabriel a silent, pleading look as Edwards led her away. He ignored it. 

"It's a pretty basic set-up," Decker said, leading him around the temple. Browning and Decker's bodyguard followed a metre or so behind. "The rebels had already installed life support systems. Including hydroponics, though we can't get any Terran plants to grow. Bajoran priests, or whatever, had quarters off that way," he pointed, "so we use those."

"And this big space? The temple proper?"

"We use it for everything else. Training drills, sparring. Telling stories around the metaphoric campfires." Decker raised his eyebrows. "Remember that camping trip when we were at the Academy? I'll never forget Davidson's face as he went over the cliff." 

He _had_ gone camping with Matt. And Alex Davidson, his roommate, who barely spoke a word for the first semester. Turned out he was desperately shy, and usually too distracted by astrophysics to notice social cues. Inevitable prey for the Terran Lorca--

He realised he had been silent too long. Decker was giving him an odd look.

"Don't say you've forgotten," he said. 

"I was just thinking how long ago that was. We were so young."

Decker seemed to relax. "And ambitious," he said. "Even then."

"Even then." Time to move on. "Where do you keep your ships?" he asked. "We didn't detect anything in orbit." 

"Southern continent. The radiation blocks the sensors." 

"Beaming in and out must be a pain in the ass."

"You have no idea," said Decker. "And we're using Bajoran transporters."

"Alien ships, alien transporters--"

"I know. As if space isn't dangerous enough. Actually," Decker paused, looking up at a statue, "is there any chance of transferring a few people to the _Acheron_? We have a good set-up here, but it's primitive. Alien food, only a few slaves -- and those are just rebels we've captured. Life support's old, and the batteries will only let us run one agoniser at a time. Be easier if we could cut our numbers down."

Gabriel shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "My situation's not exactly stable right now. Give me another month to consolidate power. I promise I won't start moving people in here until we've got everything sorted." 

"Fair enough. Thought I'd ask." Decker looked wistful. "If you need a captain for the _Acheron_ \-- she's no _Constellation_ , but I'd take it."

"Of course. I wouldn't trust anyone else." 

Decker looked surprised at that, and Gabriel realised he had gone too far. 

"In the meantime," he said, "show me your life support set-up. Maybe we can give it a boost." 

Life support, shields, they were probably in the same area. Even if they weren't, it was a logical progression. He hoped. 

"That'd be good," said Decker. "This way." 

He led Gabriel and Browning out into the kitchens. They were small, dark, and adjacent to the agonisers. The air echoed with Kate's screams. 

Regardless, a dozen slaves, wearing ankle shackles and shock collars, were preparing food. Without pausing in their work, they watched Decker as he passed. They were a more motley group than the other slaves Gabriel had seen, dressed in mismatched clothes, some missing fingers or whole limbs. A Bajoran man's ear had been cut clean off. 

_Ex-rebels. Not put through the 'training' the Empire provides to turn wilful aliens into obedient slaves._

An Andorian was bent over a hotplate, her back to the room, but her antenna twitched as Decker approached. Antenna, singular, because the other was a stump. She turned sharply, revealing a sharp, familiar face. 

_Shev._

Gabriel's first officer took shit from no one. Of course she'd be a rebel here. Of course she'd be staring at her captor with open loathing. 

Without slowing down, Decker backhanded her. Off-balance without her left antenna, Shev fell hard against the wall. Not for the first time, judging by the way she cradled her shoulder. 

He couldn't stop to help her. Or even give her a look of sympathy. 

The next room held the agonisers, and Kate's screams echoed against the stone. Gabriel didn't look at her, either. 

The doorway after that was blocked by a forcefield. Decker put his palm flat on the reader.

"Slaves like these, we can't be too careful," he said, raising his voice to be heard over Kate's screams. "Shield control, transporters, batteries, they're all in here." 

He stepped aside for Gabriel to precede him and turned to give his bodyguard a look. Then closed the door and drew his phaser. The friendliness had evaporated from his face.

"I don't know how you fooled the DNA scan," he said, "but you're not _my_ Gabriel." He the phaser, setting it to kill. "Drop your weapons." 

Gabriel obeyed, placing his phaser and hip knife at Decker's feet. He had others, after all. 

"Hands where I can see them."

"It was the bit about trusting you, right?" Gabriel said. "Step too far?"

"Gabriel Lorca sleeps with a phaser. He doesn't know what trust is." Decker was staring at him. "But you taste like him. Kiss like him. What _are_ you?" 

A wild idea was beginning to dawn. Gabriel said, "You used to be a Starfleet captain."

"Yeah?"

"So you had access to the data on the _USS Defiant_."

"The--" Decker blanched. "You're from over there."

"Captain Gabriel Lorca, _USS Buran_ , United Federation of Planets. Nice to meet you, Captain Decker."

He offered his hand, but Decker stared at it in horror and disgust.

"No," he said, "how can you -- the inquisitor -- you did that to her? You can't -- they said--"

"Did you think we were weak? That a Federation captain wouldn't survive among Terrans?" Gabriel bared his teeth in a feral smile. There was no way Decker could be allowed to live now. And that was just fine by him. He took a step towards Decker. "Is this your worst nightmare, Matt?"

Decker set his jaw. 

"Right now, my bodyguard's killing yours. There's no back-up for you, Federation. And no escape."

"Yet you brought me all the way back here. Didn't want to kill me in front of your people?"

"I hoped I was wrong." Decker grabbed Gabriel by the top of his breastplate, putting his phaser to his forehead. "I won't vapourise you. You're still Lorca. You deserve that much." 

"I'm touched." 

"Then I'll deliver your corpse to the emperor. Maybe plant a bomb inside you. You can finish my Gabriel's work, Federation."

"Matt," said Gabriel softly.

"What?"

"I don't think I'll regret killing you."

He slammed his forehead against Decker's at the same moment that he grabbed the wrist holding the phaser and twisted. An energy bolt passed his head, narrowly missing. Gabriel's ear felt like it was on fire. But he didn't flinch.

His headbutt had left Decker unsteady, and Gabriel had the phaser, but Decker was pulling his knife from its sheath. 

Gabriel kicked out at him. Decker slashed wildly, cutting his calf and throwing him off-balance. Gabriel went down, the phaser going flying, and Decker jumped on top of him, eyes wild, bloody knife in hand. 

There was a polymer knife hidden in Gabriel's sleeve. He pulled it out and tried to put it through the side of Decker's neck, even as Decker attempted to push his knife through Gabriel's eyeball. Gabriel dodged and Decker missed, striking a centimetre too far to the left and dragging the blade down towards Gabriel's cheekbone.

He barely felt the pain. 

He twisted, kicking Decker in the thigh at the same time as he shoved his knife up into Decker's neck, breaking the cartilage of his trachea.

Decker froze and went limp.

Gabriel pushed him onto his back, leaving the knife in place, and watched Decker cautiously feel the injury. 

"I wouldn't pull that out, if I were you," said Gabriel, climbing to his feet. "You'll bleed out fast, and I'm not ready for you to die just yet."

Behind him, the door opened, and Gabriel whirled around, wishing he could at least see where the phasers had landed -- but it was Browning, with her own knife in one hand and Decker's bodyguard's arm in the other.

"Palm print," she said in answer to Gabriel's look. Then she stepped aside to let the inquisitor enter.

Kate was pale and shaking, moving like an old woman until she was close enough to sag against Gabriel. But she gazed down at Decker like a queen regarding an insect. Blood dripped from the polymer knife in her hand.

"You," Decker tried to say. "He--" His hand flapped at Gabriel, but he could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

"He knows who I am," Gabriel explained.

"Oh well," said Kate. "The emperor will have to go without her revenge."

She struck like a snake, lowering her foot onto Decker's hand and pressing down until bones crunched. 

"You thought you could threaten me?" she said. "Humiliate me?" She bent and pulled the knife from Decker's neck. Blood bubbled up through the wound and she spat in his face. 

She watched impassively as Decker bled out, not taking her eyes off him as Gabriel helped her straighten up. 

"And for the record," she said as Decker drew his last, laboured breaths, "your chief engineer _was_ a traitor. And I'd have arrested you, too, if Lorca hadn't defended you. Look how that's worked out." 

When Decker was dead, Kate turned to Gabriel.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine," he said. "I feel fine."


	18. Chapter 18

It didn't last. Between one breath and the next, all the pain Gabriel had been ignoring came rushing to the foreground. His burned ear throbbed, escalating into agony every time he moved his head, and blood still trickled from the deep cuts on his face and calf. 

Kate didn't look any better. Her face was grey, lips pressed together as if to keep from crying out, and if she forgot herself and relaxed, she started shaking. 

_What a couple we are_ , he thought.

Browning collected the weapons scattered during the fight. She handed Gabriel his phaser and hip knife, but avoided eye contact. 

Instead, she studied the inquisitor for a moment, then said, "You look like shit, ma'am."

Kate managed a weak smile. "I may have overstated the efficacy of that analgesic." 

"I can tell. You should beam back to the _Acheron_."

"Don't tell me what I should do, Commander." Kate's voice was rough, but there was no mistaking her tone. "Get those shields down and signal the squads." 

Browning saluted. While her attention was on the shield control console, Gabriel said, "Kate, she's right. You can't even hold a phaser."

"I need to be seen dispensing the emperor's justice." She looked him up and down. "You're not looking so great yourself, by the way." 

"I'll live."

"You'll scar." 

She sounded approving. 

"First squad's away, Inquisitor," said Browning. 

"Good. You can coordinate the arrests." Kate gave Gabriel a sidelong look. "I'll watch. And try to avoid trying to hold a phaser."

"Not without a bodyguard, ma'am." Browning flipped her communicator open. " _Acheron_. Send down the inquisitor's Klingon." 

Browning stalked out, pausing only to give Gabriel a hard look, which he interpreted as, _If you let the inquisitor out without a proper bodyguard, you'll end up like Decker._

Decker.

The casual way he hit Shev.

Gabriel took Kate by the shoulders.

"The slaves," he said.

"The rebels. Prisoners of the Empire." 

"Please." He touched her face, avoiding the terrible bruises he had caused. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. "Let them go." She moved, and, very carefully, he kissed her on the lips. She tasted like blood. "If they get captured again," another kiss, "that's on them." He wanted to rest his cheek against hers, but between his burned right ear and the cut beside his left eye, it was impossible without causing more pain. "The Andorian woman in the kitchen. She's my first officer, back home. Let me give her a chance."

"I was right, you know?" Kate stroked his good cheek and stepped back. "One slave becomes several. You're a very dangerous man, Gabriel." 

"Thank you." 

L'Rell materialised, armed with a phaser and a standard Terran knife which looked comically small in her hand. 

"Inquisitor," she said, "your injuries--"

"I'll manage. You make sure I don't get shot." 

"And Lorca?"

Kate glanced at him. 

"He has his own mission," she said. 

Gabriel waited until Kate and L'Rell had returned to the main temple, from which came the sounds of shouting and phaser fire. Then, increasingly dizzy with pain, he made his way back out to the kitchen.

Deserted. Of course. 

_Slave quarters_ , Gabriel thought. Where in an ancient alien temple would Terrans house their slaves?

Close to the kitchens and gardens, he decided, out of their masters' way. 

The second door off the kitchen led to a long, narrow room which must have been designed as a walk-in pantry. Now it held slaves. A dozen people stared at him, some angry, others resigned.

Holding his arms out so they could see he wasn't about to start shooting, Gabriel said, "Your ships are on the southern continent. The coordinates are in the transporter. Beam over and lie low until the _Acheron_ leaves the system. Then get out of here."

No one moved.

A Vulcan said, "It would be highly illogical to trust a Terran."

"No, he's telling the truth." A young man -- a boy, really, no more than sixteen -- at the back, human-looking apart from his deep black eyes, was on his feet.

"You're too trusting, Alren." Shev stood up. "This isn't just any pinkskin," she said. "This is Gabriel Lorca. Everyone knows he likes to toy with his prey." 

"He's not Terran," said Alren. 

"For a telepath, you're awfully trusting."

"You should listen to the kid," said Gabriel. "If we're caught, we'll all die. Please, Shev--"

A flash of metal and Shev was brandishing a long, chipped kitchen knife, her eyes wide with fear.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

"He knows you," said Alren. "He likes you. He … respects you." 

This did nothing to lessen Shev's terror. 

"He's right," said Gabriel, speaking quickly. "I'm human, but I'm not Terran. I'm from another universe, one where we're friends -- comrades. Shev--"

"We're wasting time." Tattered robes swirled as the Vulcan rose to his feet. "We have a choice between certain capture, or a possible escape route."

"Or a trap," said Shev, not taking her eyes off Gabriel.

"It's worth the risk," said the Bajoran with the missing ear. 

"You go," said Shev. "I'll take care of Lorca."

"Shev," said Alren.

"Get out of here," she growled. 

When the other slaves were gone, Shev advanced on Gabriel, raising her knife.

"Why aren't you shooting me?" she asked. "You have a phaser. I'm an armed slave, and I'm threatening you."

He kept his hands out, palms open. 

"You need to go with the others," he said. "I want you to live -- I can't let you die."

Shev stepped back, her antenna twitching, her lip curling. 

"You? Want _me_ to live? Why -- so I can wake up everyday, knowing my entire _existence_ is the whim of a Terran? You people -- you're so twisted, you probably think you're being _kind_." 

"You could escape. Go far away from the Empire."

"Nowhere's far enough." Her fingers tightened around her knife. "I'd rather die than owe you my life. Even better if I can take you with me." 

She launched herself at him, and Gabriel's phaser was in his hand. 

"Please," he said.

He was injured, but she was weak from imprisonment and mistreatment. He had a phaser. 

It was set to kill, but not to disintegrate. 

The knife clattered as Shev's body hit the floor. 

Gabriel lost track of time. 

Kate found him sitting on the ground. He watched her take in the scene: him, the phaser, the knife, the dead Andorian in his arms. 

She pursed her lips and nodded at L'Rell, who helped him up and requested a transport. 

Gabriel let things happen to him. Treatment for his ear, for his various knife wounds, for the bruise on his forehead from headbutting Decker. 

An orderly escorted him back to Kate's quarters. On autopilot, he shed his uniform, leaving breastplate, belt, gloves, holsters in a trail from the door to the bedroom. Sat down on the bed to remove his boots. Pulled off his pants and shirt and underwear and set the shower as hot as the computer would allow. Stood under the water and let the dried blood wash away.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he stepped out and leaned against the vanity, studying his reflection. His injuries were gone, but the doctor had left him with a deep scar that ran from the outside of his left eye down to his cheekbone. He looked, he thought, more Terran than ever.

He felt--

Nothing.

Dried off, put on clean underwear. Retrieved a box from the drawer where he kept his personal effects. Drifted into the living area, poured himself a glass of Kate's Romulan ale. Sat on the couch with his back to the stars and the planet below. 

The box contained the piece of platinum retrieved from his universe. Gabriel had drilled a hole in it and put it on a fine platinum chain with an idea of giving it to Kate before he left. Now he just sat, running the chain between his fingers, feeling the weight of the pendant and what he had done. 

He told himself, _She wanted to die._

He could have handled it better. Should have. He was meant to be a diplomat as well as a soldier. He had been trained to de-escalate. To earn trust. 

But that was a long time ago. Or so it felt. Literally a different world. Here, he had a telepath vouch for him, but he was still a monster in Shev's eyes. 

_Excuses. You failed her._

Matt Decker and Shev were dead. So was Ava Maddox. And Adrian Kodos, the one person in this universe he truly wanted to kill, was alive. 

In just a few weeks -- maybe less than a month -- he'd be home, and he'd see Shev. Confess and atone. 

A tear trickled into his beard. He wiped it away impatiently. It was self-indulgent. _He_ was alive.

He could deal with all of this later. 

More tears followed.

_Shev's been serving under your counterpart._ The other Lorca had a gift for inspiring hatred. God only knew how Shev would receive him.

And how would he take his counterpart down? Call in to Starfleet, explain the situation and let them take care of it? 

No. He could deal with the other Lorca all by himself. Kill him like he killed Decker. Then turn himself in and accept whatever Starfleet threw at him. Debriefing. Therapy. Whatever punishment his counterpart's murder would earn him. 

He turned the piece of platinum over and over in his hands, letting his thoughts run in circles. 

He didn't know how much time had passed before Kate returned. Hours, maybe. Her injuries had been healed, but she still wore her blood-stained uniform and soft boots. 

She looked at him, on her couch in his shorts, and the pieces of his uniform scattered around her quarters, and sighed. She shed her jacket and boots and put her hand on his. Gabriel raised it to his lips and kissed it, but couldn't bring himself to make eye contact.

"I thought you were still in sickbay," he said.

"I've been overseeing the interrogations." She sat down beside him, her leg pressing against his, and said, "Is it Decker's death that bothers you? Or the Andorian's?"

"Her name was Shev."

"Thirteen rebels escaped. Captain Chambers is scanning the surface for their ships, but I don't think he'll have any luck." She moved her hand to his bare thigh. "From their perspective, it's a success."

"Not to me." 

"And I'll have to explain to the emperor how we failed to take Decker alive _and_ lost his rebel prisoners." Kate dug her nails into his skin. "Your victories come at a cost to me, but you sit brooding in the dark because you lost _one_ alien." 

"I told you. She's my first officer." 

"There. Here, she was a rebel. Now, she's a dead rebel. And you're alive." She moved her hand to the front of his shorts. "The urge to survive is our most basic. Our most primal." She was stroking him through the fabric, watching his face. "Don't apologise for living, Gabriel." 

He was exhausted and heartsick, and still ached from his various injuries, but he could put all of that aside if it meant he could stop thinking, if only for a few minutes. He kissed Kate, and tried to pull her close, but she just smiled, her lips curving against his, and dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Kate," he started to say, but she was tugging his underwear down, and he lifted his hips to help. So there didn't seem much point in arguing when she took his cock in her mouth. Her fingernails were sharp, and he pulled her hair as they broke the skin of his thighs. 

He didn't last long, but it was enough; when he had recovered, the events of the day seemed more distant. 

He offered to return the favour, but Kate just climbed into his arms, still dressed, and put her head on his shoulder.

"Too tired," she said. "Too sore." 

So they lay together on the couch. She ran her fingers over his new scar.

"I like it," she said.

"Thought you might." 

"You can have it fixed when you get home." 

"I may keep it," Gabriel said. "As a reminder." _Of what I did._

Kate just smiled and said, "I hope you'd remember me, even without it." 

"Kate, you saved my life." He kissed her, but she didn't respond. "What?" 

"I made you into a Terran. Or something like it. And you're _grateful_."

"You kept me alive. The primal instinct, right?" Gabriel pulled himself out from beneath her, searching for the platinum pendant. He found it on the deck and poured it into her palm. 

She held it up, letting it swing.

"The truth is," he said, "I don't understand why you kept me alive. Found me a way home. And … I don't understand how I feel about you, either. Except that I care for you. A lot." He helped her sit up and put the chain around her neck. Kate touched it, her face unreadable. 

"Gratitude," she said. "Sex, fear and gratitude. It's a powerful combination." 

"Do you have regrets?"

"Only that you're leaving." She gave him a crooked smile. "I care about you, too." She took his hands. "I kept you alive because you were useful. I found you a way home because I knew you'd need a motivation to work for me." Kate was drawing circles with her thumbs on the backs of his hands. "I taught you how to pass for a Terran because you'd have been killed otherwise. But…" She kissed his hands. "Part of me's glad you're going. Terran brutality combined with Federation values -- how long before you turned against us?"

"I'd never hurt you." 

"You say that now." Kate released his hands and put her arms around his neck. "For the record," she said, "I slept with you because I wanted to. If you ever wonder about my agenda -- that was it." 

Gabriel tried to laugh, but all he could manage was a strangled sob. To cover it, he pulled Kate close and kissed her. 

"I've changed my mind," she whispered while he licked her earlobe. "I can probably find the energy for an orgasm if you'll help me out." 

He kissed her again, unzipping her pants, trying to lose himself in her.


	19. Chapter 19

To Gabriel's surprise, even L'Rell regarded Shev's death as little more than a minor setback to an overall victory. 

"Thirteen slaves were freed," she said. "And the Andorian chose the time and manner of her death, and faced it with courage."

They were sparring. Gabriel had just days left in the Terran Empire, but the only outward change in his routine was the extra time he spent in bed with Kate.

"Tell me," said L'Rell, blocking his parry, "do you only grieve because you knew her? Slaves and rebels die every day."

"I realise it makes me a hypocrite."

She didn't disagree.

He kicked her in the hip and said, "I just … feel like I crossed a line."

"You killed your lover, too."

"Decker? He--" _deserved it_ \-- "wasn't the man I knew."

L'Rell took advantage of his brief distraction to sweep his legs out from under him and pin him to the mat. "Nor was the Andorian your crewmate."

"I know, but -- Decker had opportunities. Choices. Shev didn't. Except to die."

"I'll miss you, Lorca," said L'Rell. "You're arrogant and selfish -- but better than most Terrans."

He laughed, and, giving up on breaking her grip, tapped out.

"That's a pretty low bar. But I'll miss you, too, L'Rell." 

"Perhaps you will find me in your universe." She helped him to his feet. "A fierce warrior who defeats her enemies with skill and cunning."

"I'll give her your regards."

Browning had kept her distance from Gabriel since she made her bargain with the inquisitor, but she actively avoided him after the mission on T-1047, not making eye contact and giving him as much physical space as possible without actually leaving the room.

Gabriel understood, but he regretted it. He wouldn't have called Browning a friend, but she had helped him navigate this universe. Made him laugh sometimes. He had come to appreciate her as a comrade and sometime ally, and in two days, he would walk out of her life without a word.

"Sentiment," was all Kate said when he mentioned it, but her tone was fond. She stroked the back of his neck. "You want to leave flowers at Kuznetzov's grave, too?"

But she must have given it further thought, because as the next day's briefing concluded, she held Browning back for a private word.

When it was just the three of them in her office -- Kate relaxed, secure in her power; Browning cautious and curious; and Gabriel, the impassive bodyguard -- Kate said, "One of the privileges of your role, Commander Browning, is access to information normally restricted to higher ranks." She handed Browning a PADD. "This might answer some questions you have. Captain Lorca can fill in the rest." 

Browning gave Gabriel a suspicious look, but Kate's friendly suggestion carried the weight of an order. She took the PADD and saluted.

She found Gabriel on the weapons range after lunch. With a look, she cleared everyone else out, then collected a hand phaser and joined him. 

"Another universe," she said at last.

Gabriel fired. His target disintegrated.

"Hard to believe, I know." 

"And you're … a captain. In this _Federation_."

"Served my whole life." 

"It must have been a relief to find yourself here," she said, taking aim. "To stop pandering to cowards. Be your true self."

"I'm not--"

Browning laughed. "Like us? Please. You're softer than a real Terran. An alien sympathiser, sure. But you're as ruthless as any of us." She shot, nodding with satisfaction as her target dissolved. "The inquisitor thinks your Federation's dangerous -- but if you're typical, I'd say we've got nothing to worry about. The humans will welcome us with open arms."

He repeated this to Kate over dinner -- their last dinner together -- and she laughed.

"She wouldn't be so smug if she knew how many slaves and rebels I've freed for you," she said.

"Fourteen?"

"More than I should have." 

Gabriel stared into his wine glass.

"I have this fantasy," he said, "where I persuade you to come back with me."

The lines around Kate's eyes deepened as she smiled. 

"And spend my life doing what? Giving your Starfleet nightmares? They'd put me in prison."

"For what crime?" He grabbed her hand impulsively. "I'm not saying it'd be easy, but you could find a place in the Federation. I'd probably have to resign -- I definitely wouldn't be allowed to return to duty -- but we can find a quiet place to live. We could -- I don't know. Get a dog?"

"I'll get bored."

"I won't let you." 

"You'll get bored." Kate was no longer smiling. "No career -- no duty -- no goals. Friends? Probably not. Isolated." She finished her drink and stood up. "You'll end up hating me." 

He wished he could disagree.

She led him into the bedroom and made him sit. Undoing her robe, she said, "I have a better idea." The robe slithered to the ground, revealing a lace slip and panties. "You stay with me."

"Here?"

"We could get a house," she climbed into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, "on the edge of the Empire," moving just a fraction, pressing against his growing erection, "a long way from politics and violence." Another slight movement, and her breath caught as he shifted. "Browning learns fast. I could move my retirement up." 

"What about the boredom?" 

"We could manage." She glanced away and said, not quite casually, "I had my ova put in stasis years ago. We could have children. If you wanted."

Gabriel kissed her. He could picture them, dark-haired, green- or blue-eyed kids. Smart. Strong. Growing up to serve the Terran Empire.

"Children," he said. "Here." 

"We have different values, I know, but we're alike, too. And I can compromise -- I could use a free woman as a surrogate instead of a slave, and--"

"And L'Rell can be their nanny," Gabriel finished. "And they can chew Kelpien ganglia when they're teething."

Kate stilled. 

"It was just an idea," she said. 

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Hesitating.

"What?" he asked.

"It's -- I--" Kate closed her eyes and traced the scar over his cheekbone. "It's not as if you have anything to go back for."

His stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Kate pursed her lips and, apparently reciting from memory, said, "The _USS Buran_ was destroyed on stardate 1208.8. The only survivor was Captain Gabriel Lorca." 

"Stardate 1208.8." Gabriel's mouth was dry. "June. That was six months ago." Arousal evaporated, he pushed Kate away and stood up. "You knew? All this time? Shev -- Ava -- my crew -- you knew!"

"It seemed unwise to give you knowledge from the future." Despite her measured words, Kate's voice was shaking. "Gabriel--"

He could only stare at her. 

She climbed to her feet and swept out to the living area. At her desk, she called up the _Defiant_ files.

"Empress Sato had the Federation personnel files deleted. She said it was too great a temptation to see how our alternate selves lived. But it doesn't matter, in your case, because--"

She called up the _Buran_ 's record and let him have her chair.

_USS Buran NCC-1422. Cardenas class. Commissioned 19 October 2242. Destroyed 19 June 2256. Self-destruct initiated -- Captain G. Lorca._

When he followed the link to his own record, all that came up was a five-year-old photograph, his date of birth and serial number, and the words, _Record classified Top Secret by order Fleet Admiral K. Cornwell._ The order was dated ten months into the future.

When he tried to access Kat's record, all he got was a Terran error message.

"Your file was basically empty, so it escaped Sato's purge," said Kate softly. "Whatever your counterpart did -- or will do -- twelve years into the future, your record will still be sealed."

"You should have told me." 

"I know," she said. She looked as lost as Gabriel felt. "I'm -- sorry." 

_Terrans don't apologise_. She had drummed it into him. Did she truly feel remorse, he wondered, or was she just trying to placate him?

"Good," he said. 

She winced, but didn't try to argue. Gabriel turned back to the _Defiant_ files, ignoring her attempts to speak to him. 

Eventually she gave up and went to bed.

Without Kate's access codes, he couldn't view anything but the _Buran_ 's file and his own. He flicked between them as if he could get more information by staring at the display. 

In ten months' time, Kat would be a fleet admiral. That was … something. She would go from vice admiral to the highest echelons of Starfleet in just a couple of years. It was almost unheard of, unless she performed some extraordinary service. 

_Like taking down my counterpart?_

He hoped so. Federation justice was better than the bastard deserved, but even after nineteen months in the Terran Empire, Gabriel couldn't begin to imagine a punishment cruel enough to match Lorca's crime. 

_My ship. My crew. My life._

He put his face in his hands. 

Eventually, he went to bed. 

Kate was sitting up, knees pulled to her chest, staring at her hands. Gabriel sat beside her.

"I don't hate you," he said. "I … don't think I can. You've had my life in your hands for too long. Even before we slept together, I--" He forced himself to look at her. "You made me yours. You did a very effective job." 

"You always knew what I was. And who." Kate raised her head. "I told you. My only lies were of omission." 

"And now you've come clean. Feel better?"

"No."

"Me neither." 

"You'll recover," she said. "I know it seems hard to believe, but the human mind is astonishingly resilient. You won't be the same, but it will get better."

"You sound like Kat." 

Kate's smile was twisted. 

"I hate her," she said. "I assume it will be mutual." Her hand found Gabriel's. "I meant what I said. I took you to bed because I wanted you. And I care about you. Or maybe I love you. I don't really know." 

His own emotions were a tangle of grief, anger, despair. Self-loathing. 

"I lied," he said. "I told myself that it was my duty to survive and get home." And he had believed it. At first. "The truth is -- I just wanted to survive. At any cost." 

Kate squeezed his hand. 

Eventually he fell asleep, head resting uncomfortably on her shoulder, and when he stirred and half-woke in the early hours, she was still holding him.

*

Officially, he had been assigned to a routine solo mission on Freehold Base. He would leave the _Acheron_ and never return. Kate's investigations would uncover evidence that someone unknown had taken Gabriel's presence amiss and destroyed his ship. There would be just enough organic matter among the debris to conclusively prove him dead. 

He woke up with a headache behind his eyes and a twisted feeling in his stomach. A hot shower eased the headache, but the knot remained. 

Hair combed, beard trimmed, he got dressed. His final Terran costume, he thought. Nondescript civilian clothes: black pants; heavy boots; a plain, dark T-shirt. 

After a moment's consideration, he put on the leather jacket which had previously belonged to his counterpart. It was worn, but well looked after. Probably by a slave. 

He still felt underdressed, until he strapped on his wrist sheaths and knives, and slipped a third knife into his boot. 

The hip knife was technically part of his uniform. But what the hell. It went into an inner pocket of the jacket. 

Socks, underwear, the rest of his civilian clothes, all went into a small kit bag. Finally, he added his rank insignia and medals, and the data chips hidden beneath them. 

He found Kate sitting on her couch, toying with her pendant, an untouched cup of coffee cooling at her side. She looked up when he entered, smiling sadly. 

"You look good," she said. "Like it's any other day." 

"That's the point." He shifted his weight. Of all the times to feel awkward. "Kate, I--"

"Gabriel--"

They were saved by the arrival of L'Rell. 

Gabriel watched her bathe Kate, trying to commit every movement to memory. Not just the elegant curve of Kate's neck, the smoothness of her skin contrasting with her scars, but L'Rell's silent presence, disregarded by her mistress. 

Despite everything, he was going to miss Kate. It would be easier if he remembered her as she really was: a slave owner, an apparatchik in a totalitarian regime, and a true believer in the status quo. 

When L'Rell had fixed her insignia and medals in place, Kate stepped back, nodded in approval at her reflection, and said, "I think we have time for breakfast."

The meal was simple by Terran standards, and excellent: flaky roti that melted in the mouth, scrambled eggs, avocado sprinkled with feta and pomegranate seeds.

Gabriel ate, and tasted none of it.

Kate didn't eat at all.

"Hey." Gabriel took her hand. "I understand why you didn't tell me about the _Buran_. I'm angry. But I get it."

It was too soon to say this. He was still -- he barely felt anything, just an overwhelming numbness, a space which would eventually be filled with rage and grief. 

But he might have made the same choice. And he wasn't going to get another opportunity to tell her so. 

Kate looked down at her untouched plate.

L'Rell watched in silence.

When Gabriel had eaten as much as the knot in his stomach would allow, Kate got to her feet and retrieved a data chip from her desk.

"This contains all the information you need to find and open the gateway," she said. She managed a half-smile. "There are no copies of the data on any computer systems. So your virus will have to sit dormant." 

Gabriel accepted the chip, sitting neatly in its transparent box.

"You can't blame me for trying," he said.

"I'd think less of you if you hadn't."

He put the chip, his map home, in his pocket.

"Well," he said, "I guess this is goodbye."

He held out his arms, but Kate just kissed his cheek and stepped back.

"Save travels," she said, and bit her lip. Hesitating. 

Then, speaking quickly, she said, "Take L'Rell."

"What?"

"Inquisitor?" L'Rell asked.

"Take. L'Rell." Kate's teeth were clenched, as if she was fighting to keep herself from speaking. She turned to L'Rell. "You want to be free? Go with Gabriel. Make something of your life. Or don't. It's up to you." 

"Inquisitor…" L'Rell's face was a terrible mixture of hope and fear. "Do you mean it?"

Kate nodded.

Gabriel reached for her and, wrapping his arms around her, kissed her for the last time.

She pulled away before he was ready.

"Go," she said. "Before I change my mind."

They obeyed.

But he looked back as the door slid shut, and saw that she hadn't moved, except to press her fingertips to her lips and close her eyes.

*

The journey to Freehold Sector took nine hours. They spent most of it in silence, L'Rell coming to terms with her new freedom, and Gabriel--

He knew what he had to do. Had known since he killed Shev. Finding out about the _Buran_ should have made it easier, but now the moment was here, and he was almost overwhelmed by the temptation to give up. Go home, confess all to Starfleet. Let someone else take care of everything.

Except. Starfleet would repair the damage to him. But the damage he had done to others was beyond their power to fix. 

He knew what he had to do. 

"L'Rell," he said, "when you get to my universe, set coordinates for the Klingon Empire and don't stop until you've crossed their border." 

He should give her a message to carry. But what would he say?

"And where will you be?" she asked.

"I'm not going home."

Saying it aloud made it easier. 

"I've done terrible things to survive in this universe," he continued. "I need to fix it."

"Typical arrogance," said L'Rell, but she sounded approving. "Where will you go?"

"I figured I'd find the rebels."

She snorted. "They would never accept a Terran on his own, without someone to vouch for him."

"What do you suggest?"

"Simple. I shall vouch for you." 

"L'Rell, no. Your freedom--"

"Is mine. How can I have any honour if I turn my back on my own people? The rebels don't care about slaves -- but they should." She set her jaw. "I'll make them care." 

He wanted to say, _You deserve more than this._

Gabriel said, "I'd be honoured to serve with you, L'Rell."

"And I you, Captain Lorca." 

He was so far from home. He would probably die here, and his friends and family would never know. His accomplishments, even his name would be forgotten. He would leave no legacy in the Federation. 

He hoped that Kat would have a drink in his honour now and then. 

At least, when he died in this cold, dim universe, he wouldn't be alone. 

He swallowed, took a breath, held it for a second. Exhaled. 

"Let's go find a war worth fighting," Gabriel said. 

 

_end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And. We. Are. Done. 
> 
> Only not quite, because ... well, there's still that little matter of the other Lorca and his explosive (heh) return to his own universe, the end of the Georgiou regime, and all that. (It's written, it's a one-shot of about 3,700 words, I'll post it in the near future. Think "days" rather than "weeks", I just need to tidy it up a bit.
> 
> And then I'm, oh, about 20,000 words into a sequel from Kat's POV. ("It'll be short," I said. "10,000 words. Okay, 15,000 at the outside.") I'd like to have that finished by the end of June, on account of how I really would like to work on something original in the second half of 2018, but who knows? 
> 
> It can be summarised in a single gif:
> 
> **Thanks and eternal gratitude to...**
> 
> \- NonElvis for her marvellous beta work, despite the fact that she doesn't even like reading long fic, let alone helping me juggle ... this.   
> \- My readers and commenters and kudosers, because apparently Discovery fandom (and Kat Cornwell fandom in particular) is the exception to the death of comment culture. Which I suspect might be exaggerated, regardless. Either way: I've really enjoyed interacting with you all, and receiving your comments and kudos. I'd do this even if no one ever responded, but it's been wonderful to know that you were out there.


End file.
